Holmes for the Holidays
by xxDustNight88
Summary: A collection of Sherlock and Hermione one-shots and drabbles based on prompts and songs for the holiday season. Each chapter will state the story summary or prompt, along with the rating.
1. All Strung Up

**Author's Note:** Happy holidays! Welcome to Holmes for the Holidays, a 12 story collection of Sherlock and Hermione one-shots and drabbles! All stories were prompted my readers and writer friends and are dedicated to them. Each story has a different rating and are based on the prompt I was given as well as a song. I will be posting a new story every two days from now until the 24th of December. I truly hope you enjoy this collection and look forward to your feedback! Much love, xxDustNight

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! You're a rock star and I absolutely adore you! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . . . . .

 _All Strung Up_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for starrnobella. Thank you for always being my sounding board and letting my muse run wild! I hope you love this gift fic and treasure it always! _  
_Prompt: Person A is struggling to decorate their house for the holidays, and after a while of fumbling with the decorations they turn around to check on how person B is doing. Person B is wearing a wreath around their neck, is draped in lights, and they've hung various ornaments all over themselves. Person A isn't sure what to make of this, but Person B looks /deeply/ pleased with themselves for pulling it off. Bonus: Person B is actually stuck and didn't want to bother a frustrated Person A.  
Song Recommendation: "Winter Dreams" by Kelly Clarkson  
Summary: _In which Hermione is struggling to find her inner festivity while decorating for the holidays and Sherlock gets a bit tangled up in the process._

. . . . . . .

" _Dreams while I'm wide awake._

 _The tree, the lights, stayin' up late._

 _It's true; I'm in love with you."_

-Winter Dreams by Kelly Clarkson

. . . . . . .

Snow fell softly outside the windows of 221B Baker Street, coating the street below and making foot traffic nearly impossible. Inside, a roaring fire was heating the small flat from the hearth while holiday music played softly from the radio in the kitchen. Bing Crosby… One of Hermione's favorites. The entire flat smelled of fresh pine from the Christmas tree that had been brought in just that morning, and a bit of gingerbread from the cookies that Mrs. Hudson was currently baking downstairs.

This was Sherlock and Hermione's first Christmas together as a newly engaged couple, the tentative detective having only having popped the question earlier in the week. It had come as a surprise, Hermione completely swept off her feet by his proposal. After all, he'd only told her a million times how he was truly married to his work and that despite how much he adored her, the job would always come first. Silly man. Didn't he know he was a softy underneath all that pointed cheekbones and snarky exterior?

She certainly had, and that was why she'd stuck through everything with him. Breaking down each and every brick that surrounded his heart was half the fun of their relationship. It meant that each day was a new surprise and neither of them ever became bored. They worked well together, and that's probably what prompted Sherlock's sudden haste to move their relationship forward. Now, Christmas Eve was upon them and Hermione had thought it would be fun to celebrate the holiday in style by properly decorating their flat in festive fashion.

Only, she was now regretting such a decision…

Currently, Hermione was busy sorting through the copious amount of boxes that her mother and father had sent to her after they'd sold their home in London to move to Australia permanently. There were just too many boxes of holiday trinkets to properly display all of them in 221B. She was becoming increasingly agitated with trying to discern what to use and what to return to the boxes instead. It was also difficult to find spare space due to the random objects and decor Sherlock insisted had to remain because of one case or another he was currently working on. What a mess...

Because of this, she'd tasked Sherlock with the job of decorating the Christmas tree while she tried to transform chaos into a Christmas wonderland for them. Glancing over her shoulder at her fiancé, she found him examining a wreath, his eyes narrowed while he turned it this way and that. She smiled softly, wishing she knew what was going on in that brilliant mind of his. He probably thought the idea of hanging a wreath on the wall was mad, just like he thought decorating a Christmas tree was.

Although, Hermione had to admit it had been absolutely hilarious watching him struggle to carry the freshly cut pine tree up the narrow staircase earlier in the day. He'd muttered under his breath about the stupidity of the entire holiday all while stealing glances to make sure Hermione was still behind him. Closing the lid of the box she was finished riffling through where she sat on the floor, Hermione settled back onto her haunches and cleared her throat. It drew Sherlock's attention toward her, the frown lines disappearing from his forehead momentarily.

"Everything all right, Sherlock?" She asked him, biting her lip to keep from grinning at his disheveled appearance. His dark curls were all over the place from having run his fingers through them in frustration numerous times, and there was a smudge of dust across one of his pointed cheekbones. He looked adorable, especially standing there with the sleeves of his purple Oxford shirt rolled up.

"Yes. Fine," he replied in a clipped tone, flashing her a fake grin before returning to his task.

Chuckling to herself, Hermione stood and brushed the dust from her jeans before gathering some decorations and heading to the mantle. As she arranged the various Christmas candles and knick knacks, Hermione sighed happily. She was more content than she'd ever imagined, and even though she and Sherlock were simply staying in for Christmas Eve, she couldn't complain. The simplicity of their relationship is what made her fall further in love with Sherlock. He understood she'd had enough chaos to last a lifetime and instead supplied her with stability, despite his being a consulting detective.

Somehow that never seemed to be an issue. They were both able to manage their hectic work lives only to set it aside when it came to one another. Now if only he'd be willing to pack away his skull for Christmas she would be able to properly sort out how to decorate the mantle! Shaking her head at herself, Hermione tried not to get frustrated knowing that Sherlock would be able to sense her misgivings and assume the worst as he sometimes did. Having difficulties with decorations was no reason to get all torn apart for anyways, Hermione mentally chastised herself.

After declaring the mantle a (somewhat) success, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and took a step back to see how she'd done. It looked festive enough, the holly hanging from the ledge in soft waves while a handful of red and white trimmed candles flickered happily on the top. She'd interspersed crystal Santa figurines between the candles which reflected the light from the flames in a most beautiful way. Beaming with pride, she turned to ask Sherlock what he thought, only to find a most unusual sight.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, taking in the sight of Sherlock standing there wrapped entirely in what must have been three strands of Christmas tree lights. In addition to the lights, he had the wreath from earlier hanging around his neck and various ornaments hanging from both the wreath and the lights. He looked ridiculous, especially with the pout on his face indicating he was not amused in the slightest. In fact, he looked affronted that she obviously did not appreciate the effort he'd put into placing all the lights around himself.

Holding back from laughing, Hermione stepped around John's chair and made her way toward the surly man. The closer she moved, the harder it was to hold in her laughter, a few stray giggles breaking free by the time she'd reached where he stood, trapped by the lights entangling him. Meeting his eyes, she reached out and tapped the bright red ornament hanging from the wreath. It swung back and forth right over where his heart was and that was when she lost it entirely, her innocent giggles turning into a full blown laughing fit.

She couldn't breathe and tears of mirth leaked from the corners of her eyes as she watched Sherlock roll his own with irritation. It was hard to take him seriously with all those decorations wrapped so snugly around his tall frame. Just when she thought her laughter was about to subside, he opened his mouth to speak and one of the more sturdy ornaments fell off his arm to the floor. It hit the floor and rolled out of sight beneath the sofa. The two of them watched it go, and then Sherlock huffed, effectively setting her off again.

When she was able to breathe again, only a stray giggle breaking free now and then, Sherlock finally spoke up. "Are you quite finished?" He quirked an eyebrow at her and that almost sent her off again, but she somehow managed to refrain.

"Yes, but oh, Sherlock… How on Earth did you manage to wrap yourself up in all of this?" She questioned him, reaching out to place her hand tenderly on his forearm.

"That's not important," he told her, attempting to disentangle himself now that Hermione was there to help him. He was thankful when she took pity on him and began to help the process along. Before long, Sherlock was back to normal and the lights were where they were meant to be, properly draped on their Christmas tree.

Using her wand, Hermione moved all of the ornaments into place before turning and removing the wreath from around his neck. She used a sticking spell to secure it on the wall between the kitchen doorway and the door that led downstairs. She wondered if he'd somehow known how upset she was over the mess of decorations and wanted to make her feel better so she asked, "Did you do all this to make me laugh?"

He stepped closer to her before wrapping his arms around her body and tugging her body close. "Clever witch," he grumbled before bending and capturing her lips in a kiss that managed to take her breath away. When he leaned back, he trailed his fingertips down her flushed cheeks, his mysterious eyes staring into hers like he could read her soul. "You've done a beautiful job with the mantle, Hermione. Let's take a break and get some take-out. That Chinese place you love so much should still be open."

"If we take a break now, it will be late by the time we get the rest of the flat decorated." She frowned, but he surprised her with another quick kiss, causing her to melt in his embrace.

"It will get done, even if we have to stay up all night," he declared before withdrawing from her body to gather their jackets from the hook in the kitchen.

She followed behind him, taking her coat as it was handed to her. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not, Hermione," he explained as he tied his scarf around his neck. "If you want to stay up all night and decorate every room in this flat for Christmas tomorrow, we shall do so."

Blinking in shock, Hermione stood there in the middle of the flat that looked like Christmas exploded and felt her heart swell with renewed affection for the man standing before her. "I'm very much in love with you, Sherlock Holmes." She slid onto her tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, smiling as he blushed slightly.

"I love you too. Now, can we please go?" He said, clearing his throat and turning to head downstairs and out into the snow.

"I'm coming… We need sustenance or you might might find yourself all strung up in lights again." When he threw her a stern look over his shoulder, she giggled, catching up and looping her arm in his as the snow fell softly around them. Yes, this was most certainly the perfect way to spend her Christmas Eve, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Biting her lip, she decided that she'd wait to tell Sherlock she knew he'd not decorated himself on purpose...


	2. Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:** It's time for part two of the Holmes for the Holidays collection! I am so thrilled to see that you all thoroughly enjoyed the first story. This story was a lot of fun to write, especially since I got to include a little bit of Doctor Who in it as well. Although, it is not a crossover with that. It's just mentioned and played with. As always, I look forward to your feedback and thank you to everyone who left feedback on part one!

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Blue Christmas_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for I was BOTWP. Thank you for this joyous prompt. It was a really creative way to include yet another one of my favorite fandoms! I hope you adore it! _  
_Prompt: It's Sherlock and Hermione's first Christmas together and he finds out that in addition to her regular tree, she has an additional tree that is all Dr. Who themed ornaments, and she is forced to reveal she is a bit obsessed with time travel.  
Song Recommendation: "Abigail's Song" by Katherine Jenkins  
Summary: _In which Sherlock stumbles upon Hermione's secret Christmas tradition and then has to embrace his inner "Doctor" in order to make up for his lack of tact._

. . . .

" _When you're alone silence is all you see.  
When you're alone, silence is all you'll be.  
Give me your hand and come to me."_

-Abigail's Song by Katherine Jenkins

. . . .

"What. Is. That."

Hermione flinched at Sherlock's question, biting her lip as she turned around to face him with a face full of guilt. "Uh…" she started, taking in the sight of Sherlock standing in the doorway with both eyebrows raised and a half eaten biscuit held aloft. "A miniature Christmas tree."

"We already have a Christmas tree. A nice, festive one that takes up nearly the entire main room of this flat," Sherlock explained, slipping into the room and then moving to peer around her much smaller frame so he could properly see the tree that was sitting on the table by the window.

They were standing in John's old room which they normally used for storage. It appeared, however, that Hermione was using it to stow away a secret Christmas tree. Straightening to his full height once more, Sherlock refocused his attention on his girlfriend of eleven months. Popping the rest of the chocolate biscuit into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully as he waited for Hermione to articulate a proper answer.

"You see," she started again, wetting her lips as she set a hand protectively on the table beside her. "My dad and I have always been fans of that show Doctor Who…"

"I see, and that means you have an entire miniature tree dedicated to a fictional character that flies around in a box?" Sherlock was enjoying this, probably a bit more than he ought to.

"Well, yes…" Hermione trailed off, obviously embarrassed at being found out. She nervously picked at her fingernails before looking him in the eye once more. "I just thought it would be too much downstairs and I could enjoy it up here since we're turning it into my home office anyway."

"Do you really need an entire tree composed of silver robot heads and blue time machines?" Sherlock gestured toward the little tree, it's character themed ornaments lit by the white lights wrapped around the branches. "The tree...it's blue too…"

"It's the TARDIS, Sherlock. It-"

"The _what_?" He sputtered, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about. This was turning into quite an uncomfortable conversation. He should have remained downstairs alone, enjoying his biscuits and tea while waiting for a new case that actually interested him for more than five minutes.

"TARDIS," she said simply, pointing out the little blue box labeled 'Police Box'. "It stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space…"

Blinking a few times, Sherlock sighed heavily and then ran a hand through his curls. "If you say so, my dear." He knew he sounded condescending, but this obsession some people had with Doctor Who was enough to drive him up a wall. Had he known Hermione was one of the...what were they called... _Whovians_...he would have…

He stopped that train of thought, his eyes roving over the bushy haired witch in front of him. No, nothing would change. He loved her dearly, that much was evident in the fact that he'd allowed her to move in and practically take over the flat in the process. He didn't even argue when she made him eat proper meals or get a decent night's sleep when there was a case on hand. _Damn._ He was going to say something further, but he caught the subtle change in her demeanor, his senses kicking in and allowing him to see how upset he was making her.

This obviously meant a lot to her...

Sherlock knew he had to make up for his lack of understanding somehow. He was still fairly new to the concept of relationships and having a proper one. The give and take, the taking care of one another's needs… He was learning, but at times he still stumbled. Hermione was understanding, but this was Christmas. Their very first together, in fact, and he wanted to make sure that it was everything she wanted it to be. Begrudgingly, almost, he reached out and gently turned her face back toward his, watching as her sad brown eyes looked to him with a shimmer of hope.

"I'm sorry. Forgive my ignorance when it comes to things such as pop culture. I realize that I may have come across a tad harsher than intended in regards to your Christmas traditions." He paused, dropping his hand from her chin to run it through his hair again. Sighing, he realized he was either going to end up enjoying what came from his next statement, or be forced to suffer through it with a positive attitude. "I wish to make it up to you. Tell me, what can I do to make all your Doctor Who Christmas fantasies come true?"

"Really?!" She asked, the words whispered as a grin began to form on her face.

"Yes. Of course." He swallowed, slightly alarmed by the excitement growing in his witch. Perhaps he'd been too ambitious with his apology strategy.

"Well," she started brightly, taking hold of his hand and beginning to lead him from the room and back downstairs, "I have a few ideas…"

. . . .

Time travel.

Hermione's favorite part about Doctor Who was the time travel aspect of it. So for Christmas Eve, Sherlock, along with the help of his friends, had turned the flat back in time, so to speak. He and Hermione were dressed in time appropriate apparel and, currently, pretending they were saving the world from some sinister alien's clutches. It was ridiculous. It was over the top. It was, dare he say it, _fun_.

Yes, Sherlock had to admit that he was having the time of his life running all over the flat from top to bottom, hand-in-hand with Hermione as they played The Doctor and his Companion. He was the Doctor, of course, and she was his beautiful, fun, and quirky companion, willing to give everything up simply to travel through time and space to be with him forevermore.

The best part was that for the first time in a very long time, the flat was so full of life and love. No longer did silence haunt the halls, the lone chair by the fireplace, or his bedroom. Now that he had Hermione there with him, everything seemed so bright, loud...cheerful. It was everything he never knew he needed and more. She was slowly breaking down the walls he'd built up over time, and he didn't mind.

Watching as she twirled around the front room in her old fashioned dress, Sherlock lost his battle to hold back a grin. She was beautiful and, amazingly, all his. Including her Doctor Who obsession. Somehow, he thought he could manage. Deciding that he was willing to keep the role play going for just a little while longer, he darted into the room and extended his hand out to her.

Confused, Hermione paused, peering up at him through her lashes. He smirked, wiggling his fingers as he said, "I'm The Doctor, and who might you be?"

"Hermione," she replied without missing a beat, her hand sliding into his.

Loving the way her face lit up with excitement, Sherlock intertwined their fingers, her skin warming to the touch. Lowering his voice, he leaned down so he could speak directly into her ear. "Nice to meet you, Hermione. Now. Run!"

And they did. They ran, hands clasped, straight into the bedroom where they continued playing out some of Hermione's other fantasies. But Sherlock found no more reason to complain. Oh no. This would more than likely become one of his favorite Christmas traditions just as it was Hermione's.

A Whovian Christmas, indeed.


	3. Let's Have Dinner

**Author's Note:** The third installment of Holmes for the Holidays takes a bit of a naughty turn! This was a fun one to write as I got to involve John in the tale. I do so love a good threesome story so I hope you do too! Thank you for the feedback on the previous pieces and I can't wait to see what you think about this one!

Thank you to starrnobella for beta reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Let's Have Dinner  
Hermione/Sherlock /John_ _  
_Rated: M  
Written for SquarePeg72. Thank you so much for always being my alpha and for this fantastically naughty list worthy prompt. I hope it's everything you dreamed of! _  
_Prompt: John walks in on Hermione and Sherlock enjoying a "picnic" by the fire. Will he join in or try to steal one of them away?  
Song Recommendation: "I'll be Home for Christmas" by Canyon City ft. Betsy Phillips  
Summary: _In which Hermione and Sherlock's pre-Christmas picnic is interrupted by John, who, of course, is invited to join them for dessert._

. . . .

" _I'll be home for Christmas.  
You can count on me."  
_\- Canyon City ft. Betsy Phillips

. . . .

Christmas was still a few days away, but that didn't stop Sherlock and Hermione from beginning the festivities a bit earlier than normal folk. This was mostly due to the fact that a new case could crop up at any given time, leaving Sherlock to dash off and Hermione home alone in 221B. It'd happened before, just last Christmas, in fact. This year they were taking precautions to ensure that their romantic celebration would not be interrupted by Lestrade and his need of Sherlock's specific skill set.

That was why they were currently seated on a classic red-checkered blanket in front of the roaring fireplace. Sherlock had pushed the furniture out of the way and brought in some fluffy pillows for them to sit on instead. Hermione had picked up take-out from a few of their favorite places, including dessert. Having made a special trip across London, Hermione managed to procure half a dozen of Sherlock's favorite eclairs. She was certain this was going to be a holiday to remember, as did Sherlock.

Together, the two lovers relaxed in front of the hearth, the stress of their everyday lives dissipating entirely. Sherlock helped open the various take-away boxes before handing them to Hermione so she could dish out servings onto their plates. In the background, music played from a radio Hermione had procured for just this occasion. Currently, a rendition of _I'll be Home for Christmas_ crooned while Hermione hummed softly along with the words.

When everything was set up, Sherlock opened a bottle of their favorite red wine and then they began to eat. Despite each having their own plate of food, they wound up sharing off of one another, playfully stealing food with their chopsticks or fingers. It was times like this that Hermione loved-seeing Sherlock so relaxed and carefree. Too often he was strung out on a case that left little time for relaxation or Hermione, in general.

She'd known going into this relationship that Sherlock tended to put his work first. Luckily, as soon as a case was over, he could be found seeking comfort in Hermione's arms. That was her favorite part… Sherlock coming home after a case, taking her into his arms and then doting on her for as long as possible. Or at least, until the next case came around. It worked for them, though. Hermione still worked for the Ministry despite living in 221b Baker Street with Sherlock. She was often coming and going working cases of her own for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That was why times like this were so important to them.

"So what are our tentative plans for Christmas this year?" Sherlock asked, snagging a bite of teriyaki chicken from her plate with his chopsticks.

"I'd like to go and visit my parents, if you'll be home," she explained, playfully glaring at him as he chewed.

"You should go anyway, even if Lestrade calls John and me in for a case." He set aside his plate and grabbed for his wineglass instead. "I don't like the idea of you being alone on Christmas." He took a long sip of the red liquid, his eyes watching her intently over the rim.

Hermione smiled warmly at her boyfriend, sliding closer to him on the blanket. "That's very kind of you, but what if it's an easy case to solve and you come home and I'm not here?" She sipped at her own glass of wine, snuggling in underneath Sherlock's arm as she did so.

"Then I will eagerly await your return," he answered without hesitation, setting aside his glass and instead using his hand to tip her mouth up for a kiss. She tasted of dim sum and wine, entirely delectable in her own way. When he pulled away she was smiling, her cheeks flushed from the fire, wine, and something else entirely.

Deciding she'd had enough of their picnic by the fire, Hermione waved her hand and magically moved all of their food and drinks out of the way before pulling Sherlock closer. "And I love you for that," she whispered against his parted lips. Kissing him, she sighed happily as his arms wrapped around her.

Sherlock continued to kiss Hermione as he lowered them onto the blanket by the fire. Gently, he placed his body over hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth and tasting her fully. Her hands moved from his shoulders, down his back the hem of his shirt. Eager hands slipped underneath the surface, her nails digging in as he ground his hips into the junction of her thighs. Already, he was hard for her and she voiced her appreciation with a moan.

Leaving her mouth, he peppered kisses along her jawline and down her neck until he reached the top of her shirt. Starting up at her through his dark lashes, Sherlock quickly undid the buttons on her blouse with nimble fingers. As each new inch of skin was revealed, he placed a heated kiss on her flesh, paying special attention the tops of her heaving breasts. By the time his lips reached the top of her black trousers, she was a panting mess of want.

"Sherlock, _please_ ," she begged, hands gripping the red-checkered blanket tightly between her fingers.

He eagerly obliged, unfastening her trousers and tugging both those and her knickers quickly down her body. He breathed in the scent of her arousal, his cock twitching in his pants, straining to be free of its confines. Sliding his hands up and down the inside of Hermione's thighs, he leaned forward and flicked the tip of his tongue through her damp folds. She cried out, hips bucking of their own accord. He held her in place as he began to lick her in earnest. She was far more delicious than any Christmas dinner that he could imagine.

Hermione was in utter bliss as the man she loved pleasured her with his tongue. She arched her back as waves of pleasure shot through her core, his name spilling from her mouth repeatedly like a prayer. "Sherlock… Sherlock… _Sherlock…_ " When he added two of his long fingers, sliding them into her core, she found herself unable to hold on any longer. As he brought her to blissful completion, she screamed so loud she was sure that Mrs. Hudson would hear her downstairs.

It turned out that it wasn't Mrs. Hudson who heard cries of ecstasy, but another of their close friends instead. When someone exclaimed, "Bloody hell!" from the doorway of the kitchen, both Sherlock and Hermione bolted upright, the latter using part of the blanket to cover her half-naked body. It turned out to be John, and he looked more than a bit embarrassed if his red face was any indication.

"John," Sherlock said calmly, using the back of his hand to wipe the remnants of Hermione's orgasm from his mouth and chin. "You should have knocked."

"I did," the doctor replied as if in a daze. He was looking at Sherlock, avoiding Hermione's face at all costs. "I'm so sorry for interrupting. I can come back tomorrow..." He turned to leave, but Hermione's voice stopped him.

"John, please stay." She looked to Sherlock and shrugged her shoulder, silently asking him for permission. Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought for moment before finally nodding his answer. A smile broke out on her face and returned her stare to the confused doctor in the doorway. "We haven't had dessert yet. Wouldn't you like to join us?" As she said the last part, she let the blanket fall away, revealing her body to both Sherlock and John.

"Yes," Sherlock added, standing and striding toward his friend and partner. "Hermione has managed to acquire some of my favorite eclairs for just this occasion and it has been far too long since you joined us between the sheets." Reaching for John's hand, the consulting detective tugged him in swiftly. He captured his lips in a kiss that left them both breathless, reminding him of what pleasure awaited him if he remained with them this night.

Hermione watched from the floor with a smile of approval. She loved when John joined them for the occasional tryst. While Hermione was wholeheartedly committed to her relationship with Sherlock and he with her, John had been with Sherlock numerous times before she'd popped into the picture. That was why she was so accommodating to Sherlock's needs.

Within moments, Sherlock and John had managed to strip each other bare and rejoin Hermione on the floor in front of the fireplace. Hermione grabbed an eclair from the plate she'd moved away before and split it open to reveal the creamy center. She handed one half to John and the other to Sherlock before laying back down. She waited eagerly for the two men to enjoy their dessert, and she was not disappointed.

Both John and Sherlock used the sweet filling to coat her breasts after removing her bra. Then, they each took a side and began to nibble away at the treat, rekindling Hermione's lust. Their tongues met at the valley between her breasts, sliding against one another before disappearing as the men kissed each other. Hermione moaned, her body undulating and ready for another release. Realizing this, Sherlock and John stopped their kissing and moved into position.

Sherlock help turn Hermione over so she could kneel and moved behind her round bottom. John, on the other hand, slid around so that his heavy cock was right at her mouth. She smirked up at him when she realized he'd added a bit of the eclair for her to have a taste. She eagerly took him into her mouth, sucking and licking the sweetness away. While she pleasured John, Sherlock took hold of her hips and slid his long cock into her core and began thrusting enthusiastically.

It didn't take long before John was coming into her mouth, and she made sure to swallow all of what he offered even as Sherlock continued to fuck her relentlessly. His own orgasm was imminent, so he used his fingers to stimulate her clit, sending her into an orgasm that also happened to trigger his own. They came together, crying out as John gently urged them on with soft spoken words. When they'd both calmed, the three curled up together on the blanket entirely spent for the time being.

Propping himself on one elbow, John stared over at Sherlock and Hermione, who had curled around one another. He reached out and trailed his hand over Sherlock's arms and then Hermione's. "I'm glad I stopped by, but really, I am sorry for interrupting. What were you two doing anyway?"

"Celebrating Christmas early in case you two get a case and Sherlock can't be home for the holiday," Hermione explained, snuggling closer to her boyfriend while at the same time taking John's hand in hers.

"Wow," John said, letting out a low whistle. "If that's the way you plan on celebrating Christmas, I'll definitely make sure to get Sherlock home before the day is through."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle at that, especially when Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sighing in contentment, she reluctantly untangled herself from Sherlock's embrace and sat up. Gesturing to the copious amounts of uneaten take-out food, she said to her two lovers, "Now that we've had our dessert, let's have dinner."

"If you wish," Sherlock intoned, reaching over to pick up their plates of uneaten food from earlier. As Hermione busied herself with getting a plate filled for John, Sherlock met the doctor's eyes and they shared a secretive smile, both knowing that they would do everything in their power to be home for Christmas this year. Hermione could count on that.


	4. The Sweater

**Author's Note:** Almost didn't make it for this one. Fell behind in writing and then lost power for an hour. Managed to make it through though! I hope you love it! Thank you for your continued feedback and I can't wait to see what you think!

Thank you to starrnobella for beta reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _The Sweater  
Hermione/Sherlock /John_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for twztdwildcat. I can always count on you for some amazing plunnies and new OTPs! Happy holidays and I hope that this is exactly what you were hoping for! _  
_Prompt: Hermione decides to take a page out of Mrs. Weasley's book and knit coordinating sweaters for herself and her two boys. John is amused, Sherlock is, well, Sherlock.  
Song Recommendation: "Must Be Christmas" by Band of Merrymakers  
Summary: _In which Hermione knits Sherlock and John sweaters for Christmas despite knowing a certain detective might not be so thrilled._

. . . .

" _When there's only merry in your heart,  
And you're feeling nicer than you are."_

\- Band of Merrymakers

. . . .

Standing in the middle of the bedroom she shared with John and Sherlock, Hermione tapped her lip with the tip of her knitting needle while scrutinizing the two new sweaters on the bed. She'd taken a page out of Mrs. Weasley's book and decided to knit her two lovers new sweaters for Christmas this year. With a satisfied smile, Hermione decided that the sweaters were, in fact, finished and ready to be given to her lovers. Setting aside her knitting needles, Hermione looked back toward the bed, unable to keep from grinning like a mad woman.

Glancing to the doorway, Hermione could hear John and Sherlock conversing out in the main room of 221B. They'd just finished solving a case and were now settling in for a relaxing Christmas Eve together. John had ordered take out and Sherlock, well; he was probably glued to his phone looking for the next mystery to solve. Chuckling to herself as she imagined both of their reactions, Hermione pulled off the jumper she was wearing and grabbed a third sweater, her own, off of the dresser and shrugged into it.

Turning to the mirror, she smiled at her reflection, happy with how the gold book design she'd knitted turned out. Her sweater was red and gold, a throwback to her Hogwarts days. Although, she was fairly certain she'd outgrown her Gryffindor tendencies long ago, she still tended to migrate towards those colors. Biting her lip, she returned her attention to John and Sherlock's sweaters. She really hoped they liked them. The three of them had been living in a polygamous lifestyle for a little over two years now and thoroughly enjoyed one another.

Deciding there was no better time than the present to find out if her efforts were for naught, she picked up the sweaters and made her way out into the front room. John was tidying up and Sherlock was fiddling with his mobile while sitting in his chair. He glanced up and gave her the briefest of smiles before returning his attention to the device. John did one better, putting aside the books in his hands and coming forward to kiss her cheek.

"I see you've changed," he noted, playfully tugging on her sleeve. "Is this a new sweater?" From his chair, Sherlock snorted as if the answer was obvious, but they both ignored him as they normally did.

Hermione shrugged and held her gifts tighter in her arms. "It is, actually. I made it myself." She walked forward and sat down in John's usual chair settling in. She set the sweaters on her lap and then smoothed her hands overtop them. John moved to stand behind Sherlock's chair, resting one hand on the top. Figuring there was no better time than now, she cleared her throat and explained. "Actually, I made you both a sweater too."

"You made them?" John inquired, gesturing to the sweaters she held in her lap. "When did you do that?"

"I've been working on them for a few weeks now," she admitted with a smile. "I'd visited Harry and Ron over at the Burrow in November and Ron's mum was working on the ones she makes for her whole family. I thought it might be fun to give it a go. It's been ages since I last knitted anything substantial." Wistfully, she remembered sitting by the fire back at Hogwarts knitting socks and scarves for the house elves.

"I didn't know you could knit," John said honestly, coming around Sherlock's chair and sitting on the arm of hers. He leaned over and kissed her cheek before wrapping an arom around her shoulders. "Yours is rather cute. Is that a book?"

Hermione giggled. "It is! The pattern was pretty simple; yours and Sherlock's were a lot more difficult for me." Taking a sweater in each hand, she handed one to John and then tossed the other to land in Sherlock's lap.

When the detective didn't immediately look up from his mobile, John coughed to get his attention. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock did, reluctantly, put aside the device before blinking down at the sweater in his lap. "John, I'm surprised you hadn't picked up on Hermione's knitting. I noticed her basket of supplies by the side of the bed weeks ago. She knits before she goes to sleep and sometimes, before you wake up."

"When I'm in bed, I tend to be either sleeping or otherwise preoccupied, Sherlock," John said a bit tersely as he continued to hold the sweater Hermione made for him. " _Perhaps_ if you joined us there more often, you'd be a little merrier this holiday season."

Sherlock sniffed but said nothing to disprove such an allegation. Instead he crossed his arms and waited patiently for John to examine his new sweater. Sighing in frustration at his lover, John unfolded his gift and held it up for them all to see. A bright smile lit his face and he stood up to hold it against his chest, earning a delighted grin from Hermione.

"This is fantastic, Hermione," he said in awe as he looked down at his chest. The sweater was cream colored with a blue design. "A stethoscope. How clever. I love it!" Again, he dropped a kiss to Hermione's cheek before setting the sweater on the armrest.

Hermione and Sherlock were treated to a flash of skin as he removed the current sweater he wore, the white t-shirt underneath riding up just enough. Then he tugged the new one over his head before turning so they both could see. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Hermione jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

"It's perfect! I'm so glad you like it." She kissed him full on the mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he wrapped his arms around her and held tightly. When they separated, she turned to Sherlock with hopeful eyes; however, her heart fell when he didn't immediately rush to look at his own gift.

"I really do. Thank you." Hermione squeezed his hand as he thanked her, and he was unable to keep the smile from his face. It fell, though, when he realized Sherlock still hadn't moved. "Well?" John prompted, turning to give Sherlock his best glare. "Are you going to see what Hermione's made for you?" He was still holding her close, but allowed her to turn so they could watch.

"Yes. Alright." Sherlock carefully unfolded the sweater in his lap, not quite knowing what to expect. In all honesty, he was surprised Hermione had made him a sweater considering she knew he never wore the garments. In fact, he didn't own a single sweater and never had. He wore suits, and the occasional pair of jeans with a dress shirt when Hermione made him. He felt uncomfortable in those so he imagined he'd feel much of the same wearing a sweater. Nevertheless, he tried not to make too much of a show as he laid the sweater out in his lap.

It was charcoal grey and in the center, Hermione had knitted an intricate pattern of a skull. It very much resembled the one he had on the mantle. It must have taken her hours to get it just right, and he gently smoothed one hand over the design before glancing up to see her questioning stare.

"This is fine work, Hermione." He was relieved when she beamed with pride, her head falling to rest against John's chest.

"You should put it on, Sherlock," John coaxed, gesturing to it with his chin. "Then we can all match." He was grinning, obviously knowing how uncomfortable Sherlock would feel wearing a sweater. However, he also knew if Sherlock didn't wear the gift Hermione made for him, the witch's feelings would be more than hurt. Sherlock seemed to understand this as well because in the next moment, he'd stood and began removing his suit jacket.

"I suppose I should try it on to ensure that it fits," he said slowly, setting aside the sweater and shrugging out of his jacket. He set it on the chair and then began unbuttoning his shirt. He was having trouble concentrating, ways of explaining to Hermione why he wouldn't ever wear the sweater again rapidly running through his mind.

"Let me help you," Hermione murmured, coming forward to finishing unbuttoning his white, Oxford shirt. She always did enjoy undressing him. Almost shyly, she glanced up at him through her eyelashes as she finished and stepped back.

He swallowed thickly before removing the shirt and handing it to John, who folded it neatly over the back of his chair. Taking a deep breath, he then picked up the skull sweater and pulled his over his head, losing sight of his lovers as he vanished behind the fabric momentarily. When his head popped through the top, Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes with glee while John stood by the chair, arms crossed and with a smirk on his face. Tugging the bottom slightly to make sure it was straight and fit well enough, he quirked an eyebrow at Hermione.

"How do I look?" His uncertainty definitely came through in his voice, irking him to no end.

"You look brilliant!" She exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms without warning.

He stumbled slightly, eyes meeting John's amused ones briefly before managing to right himself so they wouldn't fall over. When she extracted herself from his arms, Sherlock was left feeling more than a little lost at what to do or say next. He was saved the hassle when John jumped in with one of his _ideas_.

"We should get a photo," he exclaimed. "Do you have your mobile handy, Hermione?"

"Oh! I think so." She scurried over to the table by the window and grabbed her device. Hurrying back, she jumped between them and then tugged them in close. "Everyone smile!"

Sherlock didn't smile; instead, frowning at the site of the three of them in the silly Christmas sweaters on her mobile screen. Hermione's face faltered at his expression and then John was reaching around to poke him in the back. "Oi," he snapped. "Stop being so grumpy, Sherlock. It's Christmas Eve and Hermione made these lovely sweaters for us. The least you can do is give us a smile before you go back to your scrooge-ish self."

Giving an exasperated sigh, Sherlock relented. He pulled his mouth into the most honest smile he could. In all honesty, it wasn't that difficult. Hermione was beaming with happiness and it was a bit contagious. She took three pictures and then lowered the phone, allowing John and Sherlock to step away. Sherlock stood there awkwardly, his fingers playing with the hem of the shirt.

Taking pity on his lover, John sighed. "If you're so uncomfortable, you can take it off, Sherlock. Hermione will understand, won't you?" He looked to Hermione, his eyes trying to convey just how odd this must be for Sherlock, wearing a sweater and being… _festive_ …

Knowing she should feel disappointed in Sherlock's reaction, Hermione just shrugged. "Yeah, I knew it was a long shot when I made it. I'm surprised you even put it on, to be honest." Laughing at the situation, she was thankful he even wore it for as long as he did. "Here, let me help you take it off."

"No," Sherlock snapped, backing away from Hermione's reach. When Hermione and John exchanged knowing glances, he merely narrowed his eyes and muttered, "Shut up." Pouting slightly, he sighed and then took hold of both John and Hermione's hands before tugging them into his arms. It was a rare show of affection, but neither of them dared say a word against it. "It's fine. I… I like it. Thank you, Hermione."

Hermione simply closed her eyes and snuggled into the embrace, making sure John was tucked securely around them too. She was thankful for her two lovers and the odd relationship that they shared. Mrs. Weasley was right, knitting the sweaters had been a great Christmas gift idea. She probably wouldn't make it a yearly tradition, but it certainly was what she needed this year. "Merry Christmas," she murmured happily.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," they both said one after the other and then Sherlock tipped her head up to kiss her lips briefly. John was next, taking her hand when they parted and guiding her toward the sofa.

Once there, the three settled in for the evening. John sat at one end with Hermione snuggled in next to him. Sherlock, as per usual, sprawled out across the two of them. Together, they talked quietly and relished their time together as Christmas Eve slowly became Christmas day.


	5. The Great Gift Debate

**Author's Note:** I rather enjoyed writing this one. I hope you love it as much as I do. Thank you as always for your continued feedback and support!

Thank you to SquarePeg72 for alpha reading and starrnobella for beta reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _The Great Gift Debate_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for Laura. Thank you for this fun prompt. I really enjoyed it! Also, thank you for always reading my stories. I hope you enjoy this! _  
_Prompt: It might be interesting (humorously sidesplitting) to see Hermione's reaction to Sherlock and his inability to buy her a befitting emotional gift for Christmas. Hermione as an emotional, logical thinker, and Sherlock not understanding the significance of "gifts" at Christmas.  
Song Recommendation: "Carol of the Bells" by Pentatonix  
Summary: _In which Sherlock struggles to find the perfect gift for Hermione and she finds the entire situation both frustrating and amusing._

. . . .

" _One seems to hear, words of good cheer,_

 _From everywhere, filling the air."_

\- Carol of the Bells, Pentatonix

. . . .

"So how long has he been trying to find me the perfect gift?"

Hermione sipped her hot chocolate with a grin, staring across the table at Mary, who had stopped by to see her. Occasionally, when John and Sherlock were off on their case escapades, Mary and Hermione would get together to keep from being alone. As their respective wives, sometimes they would get lonely when the boys went off on longer cases. Especially at the holidays.

Married for three years now, Sherlock and Hermione still considered themselves in that 'honeymoon' phase. While they had their disagreements, for example, Sherlock overworking himself, they still managed to keep things fun, new, and thrilling. Hermione especially enjoyed the holidays, probably getting far more enjoyment out of it than Sherlock did. She most certainly enjoyed watching her husband struggle to find her a befitting emotional gift. Usually, he recruited John to his aid, but this year, Hermione had forbid the good doctor from helping.

Essentially, Sherlock was on his own and he was floundering.

In fact, they'd had a bit of an argument just last night over the ordeal. Sherlock had questioned why they even had to purchase gifts for one another. Hermione had tried to calmly explain that it was Christmas and that's just what you did for the one you loved. It resulted in a screaming match, mostly on her end, in which she tried to get him to see he was being unemotional and over thinking the entire ordeal. She may have been slightly more dramatic than was her norm, but this was Christmas and she was tired of having to rely on their friends to make sure Sherlock bought her something special.

"Oh, I'm fairly certain he's been trying to find a gift for you since your birthday," Mary teased as she stirred her tea. Flashing Hermione a grin, she further explained, "We helped him get you those earrings for that, but made sure to warn him he was on his own for Christmas."

Giggling, Hermione asked, "So what has he brought you for approval so far?" While Sherlock was not allowed to have Mary and John help with the actual gift buying, he was allowed to ask them for final approval.

"Oh, let's see," Mary began, tapping her red, painted fingernails on the tabletop. "A striped sweater, a set of antique candle holders, a subscription to a monthly tea shipment, a pair of brown boots, and a personal grooming set complete with specialty brush."

"What!?" Hermione exclaimed, setting her cup of cocoa down on the table with far more force than necessary. "A personal grooming set!?"

"Yes," Mary said through pursed lips that Hermione suspected were hiding an amused grin. "That was my reaction as well. Sherlock wasn't thrilled."

"What did he say when you told him that was absolutely _not_ something you buy your wife?" Hermione had to know, she just _had_ to. While she had mentioned that her hair needed a trim because it was getting slightly out of hand, a personal grooming kit was not meant for a husband to buy his wife.

"Well, it was actually John who voiced his concerns over the matter. Sherlock didn't seem to understand how this could possibly cause you to be angry so John sort of had to scream at him a bit." Mary picked up her tea and sipped thoughtfully, definitely remembering the incident with much amusement.

"John yelled at Sherlock?" Hermione leaned forward, wanting all the details of this story.

"Oh _yes_. It was quite entertaining." Mary sat up straighter in her seat. "He said 'If you buy Hermione that set, she will use her wand to cut off _your_ hair!' You should have seen Sherlock's face." Promptly dissolving into a fit of giggles, Mary was lost for a few moments while Hermione sat by and shook her head.

"And I probably would, to be honest." Sighing she ran her fingers through her curls before admitting to last night's incident. "He and I had a row last night… I may have called him a machine."

"You didn't!"

Cringing, she nodded. "I did. I apologized immediately afterward, but still. I think I hurt his feelings a bit."

"Well, that explains why he came to us this morning, begging for help." Sounding much more serious now, Mary drank her tea and then set it aside. "He must have known that the hair kit would be a bust after your conversation."

"Probably…" Hermione trailed off, biting her lip as she stared into space. Maybe if Sherlock really was struggling to find her a gift, she should allow Mary and John to help him after all. "What happened after you talked him into returning to kit?"

"After Sherlock admitted to feeling obligated and harangued into buying the kit because of your hair comment, I sat him down and made him list out the things that you adored most in life." She smiled, reaching over and patting Hermione's arm. "He put three things over himself on the list."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised. She'd expected his ego to put him at number one. To be honest, he was the number one most special thing in her life, but she understood his thinking. He couldn't give himself to her for Christmas. Well, he could, but she didn't think that Sherlock would go quite _that_ route. Their sex life was not lacking. At all.

"Yup! His top three were books, tea, and travel," Mary explained, crossing her arms and beginning to look smug.

Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "He's not wrong. I do love all of those things, but what, then, did he end up choosing?" After all, Mary and John had told him not to order her the tea shipment and she didn't see Sherlock wanting to take a vacation right now. Books then? The two of them had oodles of books already.

"Oh, I'll never tell," Mary teased. "I think you're really going to love what he's decided to get you this year. He figured it out all on his own, actually. He and John went off in search of the gift after making a few calls."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, her mind running through possibility after possibility. In the end, she let the conversation change over to what they were going to do for New Year's Eve. By the time Mary left to return home to John and Rosie, Hermione felt much better over the gift situation than earlier that day. There were still a few days until Christmas and she intended not to let it get to her. If Mary and John were sure he'd found her the perfect gift, then who was she to question it?

. . . .

Christmas morning found Sherlock and Hermione cuddled together on the sofa. They'd fallen asleep there the night before after coming in from Mrs. Hudson's Christmas Eve party. They'd not made it to the bedroom, instead indulging their inebriated desires in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Sherlock was running his fingers through Hermione's curls, his eyes closed as he worked through something in his Mind Palace. It was Hermione's satisfied sigh that finally drew his gaze to her face.

He smiled and she returned the gesture, moving to sit up and place a chaste kiss upon his lips. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock," she murmured when she pulled away.

He tugged her into his lap properly and wrapped strong arms around her. "Merry Christmas, Hermione," he returned, pulling the blanket up so they wouldn't feel the chill of the early morning. "How did you sleep?"

"Anytime I'm wrapped in your arms, I sleep well," she informed him, enjoying the way his high cheekbones flushed with color. He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes as he tried to hold back a smile.

"Yes, well," he coughed, clearing his throat. "I too sleep soundly when I am with you." Looking at her fully once more, he hesitantly asked, "Should we exchange gifts?" Hermione could tell he was nervous to get the gift reveal over with after struggling with it for so long.

"Sure!" Hermione agreed happily. She grabbed her wand and summoned the two wrapped gifts from under the tree. He caught them easily and then handed her the one he'd wrapped just for her. "You first," she insisted, wanting to prolong his torture just a little while longer.

Sherlock merely nodded as he carefully unwrapped his present. Hermione had managed to save enough money to get him a brand new, top of the line, microscope he'd had his eye on since last year. His elegant eyebrows shot up so high when he saw the box that they disappeared behind the curls that covered his forehead. "Hermione," he breathed out, smoothing one hand over the front of the box. "This is far more than you needed to purchase for me."

"Hush," she said as she playfully swatted his arm. "You've been dying to have it and your old one is getting a bit worn. I wanted you to have something practical and useful that I knew you would cherish."

Carefully, he set the new microscope on the floor and then carded his fingers through her hair. As he pulled her in for a kiss, Hermione couldn't help but be thrilled at his obvious approval of her gift for him. When he pulled away, too soon in her opinion, he told her simply, "Thank you," before tapping the gift she held in her hands. "Your turn."

She smirked, knowing he was dying to see her reaction now. Picking up the gift, she could tell it was a book. Curiosity made her want to tear the paper asunder in order to see what was held within the shimmery green wrapping, but she held back. Slowly, she revealed the cover of an old but good condition book. A small gasp left her lips as she read the title and the name of the author. Shocked brown eyes flickered up to meet Sherlock's sea-colored ones briefly before she whispered, "Is this for real?"

"It is. I had to drag John all over London in order to locate this specific edition," Sherlock intoned, a tiny bit of smugness in his voice. Uncertainly, he asked, "Do you like it?"

"Sherlock!" She nearly shrieked, heart pounding as she looked again to the book she held in her lap. "This is a first edition of Charles Dickens' _The Christmas Carol_! Of _course_ I love it!" As if to demonstrate her approval, she threw herself into his arms, capturing his mouth in a kiss that lasted almost long enough that they forgot what they were meant to be doing.

Sprawled out on the sofa now, Hermione's head rested on Sherlock's chest as she listened to the beating of his heart. Thinking back, she knew she'd only ever mentioned once in passing that _A Christmas Carol_ was her very favorite holiday story. Somehow, in that brilliant mind of his, Sherlock had tucked that information away. Tilting her head up, she found Sherlock watching her, patiently waiting for her to speak.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she honestly told him. "This is the most thoughtful gift I have received in years."

"I'm glad you love it," he replied, rubbing his hand down her naked back and then back up again. Shifting slightly, he sat up against the armrest. "It was no easy feat finding you the perfect gift."

"I know, and I'm sorry for arguing with you about it so much." Hermione glanced away, slightly embarrassed with how she'd acted. "Mary told me about the list you came up with and it made me realize something."

"What's that," Sherlock inquired, still rubbing her back.

"As much as I love the gifts that you buy for me, nothing compares to your love," she admitted, placing a gentle kiss over his heart.

Sherlock chuckled, pausing his ministrations. "I knew I should have put myself as number one on that bloody list."

Hermione gave him a shocked look but he merely laughed, lifting her up so that he could kiss her again. She joined him in giggling and then the two of them lost themselves in one another's affections, their bodies demonstrating how much they loved each other with or without gifts.


	6. Gingerbread Bargains

**Author's Note:** So this fic turned into something rather different. I'd like to introduce a new pairing, Mycroft/Draco because why the hell not. This was a blast to write and I'm shocked I was able to keep it as short as it is because I could have written a couple thousand more words easily. I had no idea where this was going but I love it! I hope you do too and can't wait to see your feedback. Thank you!

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Gingerbread Bargains_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for articcat621 who I have adored for such a very long time. Thank you for being such a brilliant writer and regular friend. This prompt ran away with me and for thank I am so very thankful. I hope you love your gift fic! _  
_Prompt: Gingerbread house competition between the Holmes brothers. Hermione is the judge.  
Song Recommendation: "White Christmas" by Michael Buble, Shania Twain  
Summary: _In which Mycroft and Sherlock compete to see who builds the best gingerbread house and Hermione is forced to choose between the two._

. . . .

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,_

 _Just like the ones I used to know."_

\- White Christmas, Michael Buble, Shania Twain

. . . .

"Come now, Sherlock. Surely, _you're_ up for a little competition."

Mycroft was cocking an eyebrow at him, his face smug and taunting though he said nothing further. Sherlock was standing in the doorway of his parent's kitchen, thoroughly regretting his decision to abandon his father and John's conversation of war in the living room. He'd come looking for his wife, wanting to check on her since she was bound to need rescuing from his overbearing mother. Only, he'd found Hermione, Mycroft, and his mother in cahoots to get him to build a bloody gingerbread house instead.

"Brother mine, I am always up for competition," he snapped, glaring at his older brother in annoyance. He stomped fully into the kitchen and gestured toward the mess of gingerbread cookies, gumdrops, and bowls of frosting scattered atop the table. "I simply see no logical reason to participate in such nonsensical activities. The houses do not get eaten, nor do they serve any real purpose."

"It's _fun_ , Sherlock," his mother said, sneaking up behind him and slipping an apron over his head. She quickly tied it, protecting his suit from getting dirtied and earning her an angry glare in the process. "Now, stop being so glum. It's Christmas and your wife wants you to build her a gingerbread house."

Huffing a sigh, Sherlock turned to where his wife was seated and tilted his head in inquiry. "I suppose you are in agreeance with these two?" His frown grew as Hermione's smile widened.

Giving her husband a simple shrug, Hermione placed both hands on her rounded stomach and rubbed gently. "Are you really going to deny your pregnant wife the joy of watching you build a gingerbread house?"

"Who's building gingerbread houses?" Draco asked, sweeping into the room to refresh his cup of eggnog. He paused long enough to peck Mycroft on the cheek, effectively making him flush. He wasn't one for public displays of affection. As Draco refilled his glass, he peered around at everyone. "So? Are we having a competition or not?"

"You're just afraid to lose," Mycroft blatantly told Sherlock, reaching forward to pick up a square piece of gingerbread cookie. "You know I am far superior when it comes to making these. I always have been."

Hermione met Draco's stare across the room and they both rolled their eyes knowing exactly what was going to happen next. Sure enough, Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he dropped into the open chair across from his brother. Snatching a spoon covered in white icing, he pointed it at his brother and grinned mischievously.

"I believe you are recalling our childhood differently again. You were always too busy sneaking tastes of the candies and licking the spoon to properly finish your gingerbread house." Sherlock being Sherlock, licked the spoon now, knowing his brother was on yet another diet.

When Mycroft reached for a gumdrop and threw it at Sherlock, hitting him in the chest, Draco snorted and said, "And on that note, I take my leave. Good luck, darling." He kissed Mycroft quickly again before making for the door with his eggnog.

"Wait!" Hermione sputtered, struggling to twist around to catch him by the sleeve in her overly pregnant state. "You have to stay, Draco. You have to help me judge the competition!"

"Oh, no." Draco held up his free hand, shaking his head vehemently. "No way. I know what happens when the Holmes brothers go head to head, and I want no part of it. That's how we all met, if you recall. Those two and their secret missions getting all mixed up with us Wizarding folk."

"Making gingerbread houses is no cause for a national emergency," Sherock said dryly, picking up and examining two pieces of gingerbread. Seemingly satisfied, he set them on the tray in front of him and then glanced up at Draco. Smiling briefly, he returned to his task. "Besides, your Ministry needed a new entrance. Flushing yourselves down a toilet was positively revolting."

"Sweet Salazar," Draco murmured, scrubbing at his face with his hand as he remembered Sherlock blowing up the Ministry loo entrance. Luckily, he and Mycroft had been able to rectify the situation, falling in love in the process... "World War III is going to erupt over who has the best gingerbread house. I'm sorry, Granger; you're on your own."

"That's Holmes now," Hermione teased, biting her lip and grinning cheekily. She'd helped clear up the mess as well, being head of the MLE at the time. Draco was her assistant head and he'd been the first on the scene when the explosion happened. Explaining the magical world to Mycroft and Sherlock had been more than amusing, but she and Draco had fully benefited from the situation.

"Are you insinuating that I am to _lose_?" Mycroft asked incredulously leaning forward and staring at his husband with accusatory eyes. The man blatantly ignored Sherlock's smirking face.

Draco's shoulders slumped and he glared at Hermione as if to say, _Now look what you've done_. "Nope. Definitely not. Bye!" Then he turned and fled from the room. Mrs. Holmes sniggered as she rolled out pie crust on the counter.

"Coward," Hermione muttered turning back around and gesturing to Sherlock and Mycroft. "I guess it's just me then, and don't think for one second that I'm going to choose your house Sherlock without good reason." His head snapped up and he gave her an affronted look. "No way, it's your fault my ankles are swollen three times their normal size. Your house is going to have to be _really_ well done in order to win." She threw a wink at her mother-in-law and then settled back to watch the Holmes brothers get to work.

. . . .

An hour or so later, Sherlock and Mycroft both had beautifully constructed gingerbread houses before them. Mrs. Holmes had long since disappeared to see how Mary and little Rosie were fairing. More than likely, she'd probably grown tired of her sons' bickering. Hermione didn't mind it, finding more amusement than annoyance from it all. Having grown up as an only child, she relished times when she got to spend time with families that had siblings.

"Okay," Hermione interrupted, causing them to set aside their icing and candies. "I think that's enough. Back away from the table, boys. It's time for judging!" She had to admit, even if it was just to herself, she was more than a little excited to tease them mercilessly.

Sherlock and Mycroft gave each other scornful glances before backing away to stand against the counter. Mycroft ran a hand through his hair, its normally perfected appearance tousled and in need of a comb. Sherlock had a smudge of white frosting across his cheek and Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd managed to smear it across his trouser bottoms as well.

Struggling to her feet, Hermione placed one hand gently on her swollen stomach and then began her slow walk around the kitchen table. She hummed thoughtfully as she inspected each gingerbread house, noting both the flaws and the pieces that made them stand out. Mycroft's was probably the more durable of the the two, standard looking with a gumdrop walkway and frosted windows. Sherlock's on the other hand was two stories, slightly tilted, but it did resemble the house they were currently celebrating Christmas inside.

Even if she wasn't married to and having the detective's child, she probably would have migrated towards his as an obvious winner. Sneaking a glance at her acerbic husband, she found him smirking at her as if he too knew this. Smug bastard. She was going to make him work for his victory. Wetting her lips, she gave him a sly grin of her own and looked to Mycroft.

"This is really well done, Mycroft," she told him, tapping a finger on the table next to his house. "I never knew you had such a talent for making gingerbread houses." Sherlock scowled at her words and crossed his arms while Mycroft perked up and preened under her praise.

"Why thank you, Hermione," he replied cheerfully. "I always did have a bit of a knack for building these beauties. Mother used to set them on the counter for days when we were children."

"Don't lie, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped, stomping forward. "You know you never finished a single gingerbread house when we were growing up, and if you did, mother certainly didn't set it out for display."

"You're just jealous that Hermione finds my gingerbread house superior to your wobbly little excuse for a shack," Mycroft returned, eyes narrowed and voice dark.

"Now, now," Hermione said as she stepped between the two brothers. "I never said I was picking yours, just that it was beautiful." Inside she was dying with laughter, enjoying their bickering as they tried to prove their house was best. "Sherlock's may be a bit wobbly, but it does take a striking resemblance to this house."

"I was inspired by our parents' home, this is true." Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and gave Mycroft a smug grin as if this solidified his win. Glancing back at his wife, he asked, "So, my love, whose house do you believe takes the cake, as it were?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock's question.

"It's really a difficult decision," she teased, earning her frowns from both Holmes. "I think I need a few minutes to deliberate before I announce the winner."

At that moment, Mrs. Holmes returned to the kitchen. "Still no clear winner?" she asked, patting Hermione on the shoulder. "Well, you two boys can help me clean up the mess you made while she decides."

"Sherlock's the one who spilled the frosting on the table, mother," Mycroft tattled as if he were a young child again. Hermione giggled, but Sherlock huffed and glared at his brother.

"Why don't you have another spoonful, Mycroft? I saw you sneaking licks all afternoon." This earned him a glare and Mycroft's fingers twitched as if wanting to grab hold of his umbrella. According to Sherlock, there was a sword hidden in there and she and Draco had a good laugh reminiscing about his father's old cane that held his wand.

"You both stop that or I'm going to say that _neither_ of you have won!" Hermione scolded which caused them jump into action. Mrs. Holmes gave her a grateful smile before beginning to instruct them on what to clean.

They immediately set about helping their mother tidy the table for dinner. While they did that, Hermione moved the two trays holding the houses to the counter so she could do her final inspections. She needed to pick a winner, and while Sherlock's was the clear winner, she was nearly tempted to pick Mycroft's just for the fun it would cause. If only Sherlock wasn't so emotional… She sighed and lost herself in thought, wishing Draco hadn't chickened out and was here to help.

Hermione gasped as Sherlock came up behind her and tucked his chin into the crook of her neck. Kissing just under her earlobe, he whispered, "If you pick my house, I'll make sure to run you a hot bath when we get upstairs later." His hands rubbed up and down her arms, effectively causing goosebumps to rise. Mycroft was distracted by his mother and missed the exchange. "Then, afterward, I'll give you a full body massage, especially for those swollen ankles. How does that sound?"

Biting her lip to keep from moaning aloud, Hermione merely nodded. Sherlock knew exactly what she liked and she was hardpressed to say no at this point. Dropping her voice so only he would hear, she asked, "What about after the massage?" She smirked as she felt his lips form a smile against the sensitive skin of her neck. She had him.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Holmes," Sherlock mumbled, his voice low and full of amusement laced with arousal. He placed another kiss to the shell of her ear this time, hands coming to rest on her hips as he pressed himself fully against her back. "You have a deal."

And then, he was gone and she felt oddly cold in his absence. Suddenly, she could hardly wait for the day to end so she could hold Sherlock to his word. She waited until he'd situated himself back at the table, stealing into the conversation with his mother and brother so easily it was as if he'd been over there the entire time. Chuckling, she was certain Mycroft knew exactly what had been done, but if it had been Draco doing the judging, he'd have fallen for exactly the same ruse.

Clearing her throat, Hermione called everyone's attention back to herself for the big reveal. "Okay, you lot. After much deliberation, I've made my decision." Smiling and rubbing her belly affectionately, she met all their stares in turn and then shrugged. "While your house is very much traditional, Mycroft, I have to go with Sherlock's. Something about it just feels so rustic and makes me think of Christmas when I was a little girl. I'm sorry."

Sighing, Mycroft first glared at Sherlock, who managed to look surprised at her decision before he walked forward and pulled her into a hug. "It's okay, Hermione. I can accept defeat with grace." After releasing Hermione, Mycroft returned to Sherlock and held out his hand. "Congratulations, brother mine."

Sherlock accepted the handshake with a suspicious glare, but he did accept it nonetheless. "Thank you," he said with superiority, his shoulders straight and that smug grin back on his lips. "Loser sits by the door?"

"Absolutely not," Mycroft returned quickly.

"Boys, boys, boys," Mrs. Holmes cut in before they could get to fighting, ushering them into helping her set the table now.

Satisfied with the turn of events, Hermione stepped out of the fray to grab herself a glass of holiday punch from the bowl on the counter. Mycroft didn't seem too put out about his loss so she didn't feel poorly for cheating him out of a proper win. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco smirking at her. "I see you've returned only _after_ the winner has been revealed."

"You should have been a Slytherin, Granger," Draco quietly pointed out, leaning against the doorframe and joining her in watching the brothers squabble over the seating arrangements. He'd snuck into the kitchen at some point without them noticing. "You're even more cunning than myself at times."

Laughing quietly, she glanced up at him with a grin, not bothering to correct him for using the wrong name. She also wasn't going to bother denying his claim; instead, she just shook her head and looked back at Sherlock affectionately. "Oh, I don't know, Draco. I think that I just know a good gingerbread house when I see one." Turning, she gave him a wink before joining her husband in helping set the table.

Mycroft wandered over then and allowed Draco to place a comforting arm around his shoulders. "You got swindled, you do know that right?" He asked, smirking as Hermione and Sherlock playfully argued over the best way to fold the napkins.

"Of course," Mycroft replied softly, a fond smile on his face. Nothing more was said on the subject, the older Holmes brother allowing his younger brother the satisfaction of a good win. It was as it always was in the Holmes household, Mycroft ensuring that his brother was happy and that their family was safely content, gingerbread bargains aside. Giving his husband a nudge he added, "I'll win next year."

"Sure you will," Draco said with a laugh. "Next year Rosie will be old enough to participate too, not to mention Sherlock will probably enlist the help of his infant son or daughter." Draco had to bite back a laugh as Mycroft's face fell knowing he was perfectly right. He was never going to win one of these competitions.

"Damn."


	7. Together at Christmas

**Author's Note:** Uh, well… This was NOT supposed to be this long but the prompt wanted angst and my heart went for it. I'm warning you this is angsty galore and I love it so very much. I do apologize for any tears you may shed because this is meant to be a Christmas collection and who wants to cry at Christmas?! Anyway, I hope you love it despite all of that and I can't wait to see what you think. Thanks again for reading!

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading this super-fast! You really are a rock star! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Together at Christmas_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for SaintDionysus who I have to both love and hate for giving me this prompt. You are an amazing artist and author and I am so glad to call you my friend. I hope this fic is angsty enough for you. Thank you for forcing me out of my comfort zone and then allowing me to mend my soul all in the same story!  
Prompt: It's Sherlock and Hermione's fifth Christmas together, but they've never spent actual Christmas Day together. Is his family secret going to tear them apart.  
Song Recommendation: "Merry Christmas (I don't want to fight tonight)" by The Ramones  
Summary: _In which the Holmes family secret keeps Hermione and Sherlock apart at Christmas one too many times._

. . . .

" _I loved you from the start,  
_ ' _Cause Christmas ain't the time to be  
_ _Breaking each other's hearts."  
_ \- Merry Christmas, The Ramones

. . . .

 **22 December 2016**

"Because it's _Christmas_ , Sherlock, and we're supposed to be together for the holidays."

Hermione felt like crying as she paced the small space between Sherlock and John's chairs in 221B Baker Street. Once again, Sherlock was insisting that she find alternate plans for Christmas while he went off with his family. Without her. For the first couple years of their relationship, she understood his reluctance seeing as they were new to this thing, but now…

Now they were engaged, their wedding set for early summer of the coming year. Having been together for five years now, Hermione wanted to spend Christmas with her soon-to-be husband, getting to know his family better and dreaming of the Christmases of their future. That really wasn't so much to ask, was it? Couples typically spent the holidays together unless there was some sort of dire reason.

"You and I will attend Mrs. Hudson's party Christmas Eve," Sherlock intoned, crossing one leg over his knee and staring up at her from where he sat in his favorite chair. His face was devoid of emotion, something that was not uncommon for him.

"I know, but I want to spend Christmas together, Sherlock." She stopped pacing and dropped onto the edge of John's usual chair. Meeting Sherlock's stare, she swallowed back the tears she felt clogging up her throat. "I know it has to do with your family because that's the only holiday where you're all together, typically. Do your parents not like me? Is it Mycroft?"

Sherlock blinked slowly and then sighed as if the conversation was exhausting him. Folding his hands together in his lap, he said, "My family adores you, Hermione. In fact, I sometimes wonder if they like you far better than myself."

"Then why? _Why_ can't we spend the holiday together? Please… You have to at least tell me so that I understand." She was practically begging, her heart breaking with every word she spoke. It wasn't like Sherlock to keep such things from her, she being the only one aside from John who knew him the best.

"It just has to be this way. You're going to have to learn to understand," Sherlock replied, glancing down and then away. Hermione wanted to growl in frustration, but she refrained as he continued. "Perhaps, next year… Things will be different."

"What? When I'm _officially_ a Holmes?" Her face crumpled in confusion, her heart aching to know what secret her love was keeping from her.

"As I said, it's a possibility. There is…" He stopped though, his words trailing off into nothing. He didn't look back at her and so Hermione used the arms of the chair to push to her feet. Stalking toward the door, she said nothing because what else was there to say? Having taken notice of her intention to leave, Sherlock asked, "Are you leaving? I thought we were to have dinner with John and Mary?"

Hermione paused, her hand hovering over her jacket where it hung by the door as she contemplated what to say next. It was true that they had plans, but her heart hurt and she knew she couldn't put on a happy facade right now. Mary would notice in an instant and then they would be in their business which was something both Hermione and Sherlock detested. Deciding what to do, Hermione glanced back over her shoulder to find Sherlock now standing.

"Give Mary and John my best, okay? I- I'm going to go and help Ginny wrap gifts for the kids. She asked me yesterday and I forgot," Hermione said quietly, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. "I'll probably just stay at my flat tonight." She bit her tongue to keep from saying more as Sherlock took one step towards her. If he came to her, she would probably break, but he somehow knew this and remained where he was.

"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, then." He nodded once and then slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. Hermione didn't say anything to confirm or deny that as she took her coat from the hook and slipped it on. In fact, she didn't even glance his way again as she left the flat.

. . . .

"So now I don't know what to do," Hermione told Ginny from where she sat surrounded by ribbons and rolls of wrapping paper. Ginny was attempting to wrap gifts for her three children as well as the rest of the Weasley clan.

"Well," Ginny muttered as she tried to get the edges on the gift she was working on just right. "He's definitely keeping something from you, and you have to figure out what it is or let it drop." Smiling as she successfully got the gift perfect, she pushed it aside and frowned at Hermione. "If not, it's only going to tear you two apart."

"I feel like it already has," she admitted, grabbing Poundcake, Lily's new kitten, before she could tear into the ribbons again. She held the kitten in her lap and stroked its ears and smoothed her hand down its back. "He's so distant this time of the year. I'm afraid that we won't…"

"What?" Ginny said running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. "That you won't make it? Come on, Hermione; you and Sherlock have been through hell. I haven't forgotten that time he got shot… And then when Mary got shot too. Damn, you all have some pretty messed lives."

Hermione lifted Poundcake up and held her against her chest as if she could help alleviate some of the pain she was feeling. "I know, and that's why this time I'm worried this might be the nail in our coffin. I can't do it, Gin. I can't go another Christmas without Sherlock by my side. I love him…"

"I know you do," Ginny said softly, looking at her with sad eyes. "You have to make a decision. Just know, that whatever you choose, I'll be there for you. You're always welcome at our house for Christmas either way."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, setting the kitten on the floor and watching it scurry away, leaving her feeling emptier than before. "That means a lot."

* * *

 **23 December 2016**

Hermione was just getting home from work when her mobile rang. It was still tucked in her pocket so she quickly removed it before hanging the cloak on the stand by the door. Without bothering to look, she accepted the call and put the mobile to her ear. "Hello?" she asked as she kicked off her boots and then made her way toward the bedroom.

"Hermione."

Sherlock's voice caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Biting her lip, she suddenly felt guilty. She'd avoided his texts all day and hadn't bothered to call him on her lunch like she normally did. Somehow, she managed to get herself moving again, not saying another word until she was in the bedroom. "Hi," she said, her chest tight with anxiety.

"I was calling to ensure you made it home safely." His voice sounded distant, almost insecure which was odd.

"Uh, yeah," she replied, tucking a curl behind one ear as she glanced around her tidy bedroom in search of something to keep her mind focused. "I just got through the floo, actually."

"Are we getting together this evening?" The 'Are we still in a fight?' went unspoken, but the heaviness of it settled on Hermione nonetheless. "I can bring Italian, if you're hungry."

Closing her eyes, Hermione knew Sherlock was feeling remorseful over their holiday disagreement. He never offered to bring her food. Hell, she was the one who had to make sure _he_ ate on a regular basis. She knew what she had to do, now she just had to summon some of her Gryffindor courage in order to get it done. Pressing a hand against her chest to hold in her pain, she exhaled and then opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Not tonight."

"Okay," he replied after a brief pause. It was quiet on the line, and Hermione suspected he was staring out the window as he tried to figure out what to say next. He was never very good handling relationships, often relying on Hermione to make things work for the both of them. This time, though, she couldn't do anything further. He had to be the one to make the effort. "I suppose I will see you tomorrow for Mrs. Hudson's party."

"Actually," Hermione cut in, her heart aching so horribly she was certain it was going to stop beating altogether. "I don't think I'm going to be able to make that either." She had to pause then, her breath hitching as her heart broke. "I've been thinking, and if you can't trust me to understand whatever it is you're keeping from me about Christmas, I can't do this. I can't be with you but not _with_ you. It's all or nothing, Sherlock. That's how a relationship works. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock said nothing for quite a while and Hermione suspected that he may have set aside the mobile. It wouldn't be the first time he'd forgotten he was on the other end of the line. Just when she was starting to believe that was the case, there came a sharp intake of breath. "If you're certain," he said formally, as if she hadn't just called off their relationship, effectively ending their engagement as well.

"I am," she whispered into the mobile, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Very well, then. Goodbye, Hermione."

And then the line went dead, Sherlock apparently unwilling to fight for their relationship. She'd suspected as much but still, it hurt. It hurt more than she cared to admit. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Hermione dropped the mobile onto the mattress and then stared around her bedroom in shock. It was over. Her relationship with Sherlock Holmes was over, and all because he wouldn't tell her why they couldn't spend Christmas together. Dropping her face into her hands, Hermione finally allowed herself to cry knowing that this was going to be the worst Christmas since the war. She was going to be alone, her heart broken into a million tiny pieces.

* * *

 **24 December 2016**

Staring at her empty mug, Hermione was trying to decide whether or not she should have tea or hot cocoa. She was leaning more towards the tea, but it was Christmas Eve, after all. Normally at this time, she would be enjoying cocktails at Mrs. Hudson's flat. Her party was always a fun event, one she looked forward to every year. Unfortunately, she couldn't attend considering she and Sherlock were no longer together.

Merlin, what a mess this was turning out to be. Opting for the tea, Hermione used her wand to speed along the process before taking her steaming mug back into her living room. There, she curled up on the couch underneath her favorite quilt and reached for her book. Ginny had invited her over to the Burrow this evening, but she'd declined. She'd be spending the day with the Harry, Ginny, and the entire Weasley clan tomorrow. Tonight she was going to wallow in her heartache and try to begin the horrid process of forgetting.

Easier said than done when every time she turned around there was another memento of her time spent with Sherlock. Sighing heavily, she sipped thoughtfully at her tea and flipped the book open to the page she'd left off on earlier. Even now, she was drawn to a mystery novel, her ex-lover still at the forefront of her mind. _Why_ couldn't he simply be honest and talk to her about whatever was keeping them apart for Christmas? Frowning to herself, Hermione forced herself to focus on the book in her lap, pushing Sherlock and their lost relationship from her mind once and for all.

It was nearing midnight by the time she decided she should finally head to bed. She'd just closed her book and set it on the coffee table next to her empty teacup when the front door of the flat was thrown open and in strode Sherlock. Obviously, he still had access to a key and was making use of it despite the fact that she'd ended their relationship the night before. Sitting there in shock, Hermione was unable to do anything but gape as Sherlock shut the door behind himself and stepped fully into the room.

"Sherlock?"

"I apologize for disturbing you so late."

She blinked up at him from where she still sat on the couch. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't wait until morning to speak with you. It had to be tonight. I even ignored a text from Lestrade with a very promising case," he told her, his sea-colored eyes boring into hers. He must really be serious if he was willing to turn down a case.

"Okay…" She was hesitant, worried that she was about to get her heart broken even further. "What did you need to speak to me about?"

"I have loved you from the moment I met you, Hermione," Sherlock proclaimed, dropping to his knees and taking both her hands into his. This was a moment of epic proportions for Sherlock did not show affection easily. It had taken him nearly four months to gather courage enough to ask her to marry him. John had told her about it afterward. "I have spoken with my family and they are willing to include you in our Christmas celebration, that is, if you'll still have me." Meeting her tearful gaze, he squeezed her hands gently and asked, "Will you? Will you forgive my error in judgement and allow me back into your heart?"

"Oh, Sherlock," she breathed, unable to keep the tears from cascading down her cheeks. "You have never left my heart."

And then she leaned forward and captured his lips with her own, and if his cheeks were damp too, she paid it no mind. And when Sherlock let go of her hands so that he could stand and climb on the couch with her, she allowed that too. They took their time undressing one another, almost as if they had been apart for far longer than the span of two days. Then again, maybe they were. Sherlock made love to her slowly, whispering words of affection and making her feel more loved than ever before.

Later, as they lay together under her quilt, their naked bodies intertwined and stated in the way only two people who truly loved one another could be, Sherlock finally spoke once again. "I meant what I said earlier. My family has agreed to disclose our secret earlier than we had originally planned."

Curling further into Sherlock's embrace, Hermione tucked her head underneath Sherlock's chin and sighed happily. "Why didn't you just open up to me about this beforehand? I would have understood had you told me it was something you yourself couldn't talk to me about without consulting them first."

Smoothing a hand over Hermione's curls, Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he replied. "I didn't believe it would cause such a rift between the two of us," he admitted. "Then again, Eurus always seems to have that effect on people whether she knows it or not."

"Who's Eurus?" Hermione asked, tipping her head up to stare questioningly at her once again fiancé. His nose crinkled slightly as he struggled to tell her the truth, but when he opened his eyes, all she could see was his resolution to be forthcoming with her.

"She is my sister," Sherlock began slowly, watching Hermione for any signs of distress. Hermione said nothing, but her eyebrows did raise as her eyes went wide. "And there are a few, shall we say, stipulations and procedures you need to know about before you meet her tomorrow…"

* * *

 **25 December 2016**

Finding out Sherlock had a secret sister was really no big deal. Finding out Sherlock had a secret sister who was locked away in high security prison on a secret island, well, that was a bit more than she'd anticipated. It now made sense why Sherlock was unwilling to share his Christmas plans with her every year. Hermione had listened intently the night before as Sherlock explained his sister's particular predicament and the security measures that were in place to protect her and those that visited. It was a lot easier to understand her fiancé's reluctance to include her, but she was thankful he'd done so all the same.

Standing now inside the meager space Eurus called home, Hermione found her heart beating rapidly as she stared at the woman on the other side of the glass. Mycroft and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were quietly talking to the other Holmes sibling while she stood back with Sherlock. When he took her hand and gave her a small smile, she returned it, ignoring the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Really, she had no reason to feel this way. She'd visited Azkaban on numerous occasions being the head of the MLE. This place was quite similar.

Before Sherlock could say a word, his sister spoke, her voice sounding distorted through the microphone installed in the cell. "Sherlock," she said, amusement in her tone. "I see you've finally brought your fiancée to meet me."

He nodded and then began to walk forward, never letting go of Hermione's hand so she was forced to move with him. "Eurus, I see you are doing well. This is Hermione, the woman I was telling you about."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger." Eurus took a hesitant step toward the glass partition before glancing at Mycroft. He gave a subtle nod and then she moved so that she was right in front of it. "Sherlock has told me much about you. He adores you endlessly."

"I adore him too," Hermione replied, glancing at Sherlock with affection. She squeezed his hand as they stopped before the glass and then smiled at Eurus. "I'm glad I'm finally learning of you."

"I'm the black sheep of the family; no one ever gets to know about me unless they're _in_ the family." This was said with no malice, but it still made Hermione's heart sad. She was well aware of the reasons why Eurus was kept in her little glass room. Glancing at everyone who'd come to visit her, Eurus smiled despite her situation. "While I won't get to attend your wedding this summer, I do appreciate that we can all be together at Christmas, however."

"Enough, Eurus," Mycroft cut in, drawing her attention away from Hermione. "We're only here for a short time, so let's celebrate. I believe Sherlock brought his violin." The oldest Holmes brother gestured toward Sherlock, who did have his violin ready. Hermione joined Mr. and Mrs. Holmes to watch as Sherlock and Eurus performed for them.

Mycroft patted her on the knee when he joined them shortly after the playing began. He leaned closer so she could hear him and whispered, "Sherlock threw quite the fit in order to get you clearance to be here today. He must truly love you."

Hermione blushed, and glanced at her lap. "I love him, too. I'm sorry if I caused any trouble."

"Nothing nearly as dramatic as Sherlock is prone to, I can assure you." Chuckling, probably more to himself than anything else, Mycroft added, "I should welcome you to the family, Mrs. Holmes. Paperwork had to be acquired in order to allow you on the island."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she merely gaped at Mycroft as he turned his full attention to his younger siblings. "But the wedding?" she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to their conversation.

"Will still happen as planned," he assured her. "The paperwork is simply no longer an issue. Congratulations."

Staring at Mycroft, Hermione wasn't sure whether to feel angry or joyous. Sherlock really had gone out of his way to ensure they could be together at Christmas. Quickly, so he wouldn't be able to stop her, Hermione pecked Mycroft on the cheek. "Thank you, Mycroft. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replied, his cheeks tinged in embarrassment. "Now hush and enjoy the show." She obliged, watching her _husband_ and his sister play Christmas song after Christmas song. It wasn't a traditional way to spend the holiday, but Hermione didn't mind. She was just thankful to be here with her new family, Sherlock especially.

That night, Sherlock and Hermione lay together on their bed in 221B. They were still clothed, both strung too tight to do much more than enjoy the comfort of one another's arms just yet. They had both been wrong; Sherlock keeping secrets and Hermione unwilling to keep her emotions from making rash decisions for her. Intertwining their fingers, Hermione sighed and decided she might as well break the silence.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" Other than that, he did not open his eyes, his hand rubbing up and down her spine in a most soothing manner.

"I wanted to apologize too. I was wrong to break things off between us like I did." Her words were met with a smile, and that surprised Hermione to no end. She wanted to question him on that, but he beat her to the punch.

"You had every right. I am quite difficult and I suspect that will never change." Placing a gentle kiss to her forehead he added, "All is forgiven, Hermione. Let us table our troubles for another day. Christmas is a time for loved ones to be together, not break each other's hearts."

"I suppose you're right…" Hermione trailed off, surprised by his words. However, she was unsurprised to see his smile turn into a salacious grin before he rolled her so that he was straddling her hips.

"I hear make up sex can be even better than normal coupling," Sherlock told her, his hungry stare making her skin turn hot. "Care to help me test the hypothesis?"

Laughing, Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Sherlock." When her statement was met with a simple quirk of an eyebrow, she relented. "Oh, all right, _husband_."

His eyes went wide at the realization that she'd been told the secret reason her presence was permitted on the island. Taking pity on him, she tugged him down for a kiss, enjoying the way he melted into the embrace. They spent the remainder of Christmas basking in the love of one another, no longer worrying about whether or not they would be apart. Sometimes it took taking a step backward in order to move forward. Their relationship wasn't perfect, but that's what made it so special. Hermione didn't care where they spent Christmas; as long as she was with Sherlock, she would be happy.


	8. Underneath the Christmas Lights (Part I)

**Author's Note:** Okay, so first of all, this story is not a one-shot. It just couldn't be. Something about this prompt just exploded and I swear I never expected that at all. It's going to have a part two, so be on the lookout for that. That said, I enjoyed writing this one and the words just flew from my fingers like magic. I can't wait to see what you think and to write the second part, although that might take a few days. Nevertheless, it will be available before Christmas! Thanks as always for the wonderful feedback and for sticking around with me through my crazy writing antics!

Thank you to starrnobella for beta reading and SquarePeg72 for alpha reading! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Light the Way_ _  
_Rated: M (for part two)  
Written for GaeilgeRua who has been one of my favorite authors for ages and is now one of my very closest friends. This prompt was brilliant and I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for inspiring me. I love you! I truly hope this is everything you wanted and more!  
Prompt: After being attacked in Muggle London just before Christmas, Hermione finds herself being treated by Dr Watson in his home. Over the next few days as she heals, his acerbic flatmate catches her eye.  
Song Recommendation: "Underneath the Christmas Lights" by Sia  
Summary: _In which Hermione is attacked and John brings her to 221B Baker Street to heal, only Sherlock isn't as welcoming as the good doctor…at first._

. . . .

" _You're all I need tonight,  
Here by the Christmas lights."  
_\- Underneath the Christmas Lights, Sia

. . . .

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, her head aching something fierce. Vaguely, she recalled being tripped into the road and then dragged into an alley. As pain flared within her chest, she also remembered being kicked multiple times, as well as her hair being pulled and her neck being choked. That explained the soreness when she swallowed. What she didn't recall was ending up on a random sofa, her wounds seemingly tended to and a warm blanket under which to lay.

Hermione had been attacked and for reasons unknown at this point, but that still didn't explain why she was here. Squinting into the early morning darkness, she tried to figure out her surroundings, but it was difficult. Still in London, by the sound coming from outside, Hermione wracked her addled brain to figure out what may have occurred.

She remembered not reaching for her wand like she normally would, not sensing a magical core from her attacker. He'd used surprise to his advantage, the suddenness of the fall startling her entirely. She'd been on her way home from work, wanting to stop by Speedy's for a quick meal to take with her. Only, she'd never made it. She recalled the stench of the man's breath as he beat her and then kicked her too. She'd tried to fight back, but it was no use. If the doctor hadn't shown up when he did, she could only imagine what would have happened.

That's when she remembered the doctor. John, she believed his name was. He'd taken down the attacker with ease, effectively breaking the man's leg and spraining his arm. Hermione had tried to get up but her body wouldn't allow it. John had been kind, saying she was safe and that he was a doctor who would take care of her. Right before she passed out, she recalled him saying he lived nearby and asked her name. She didn't remember giving it to him before passing out.

Now, she was apparently in his flat, but she needed to get home. She needed to find her wand and figure out why she was attacked. Harry would worry when she didn't show up for work in the morning. She never missed a day. Her head ached and so did her body, but she tried to move. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. At that moment a door was thrown open and slammed closed downstairs before the sound of footsteps echoed on the staircase. Quickly, Hermione feigned sleep, still unsure about this entire situation.

Hermione turned her head away and half covered her face with the blanket a split second before the person reached the top of the stairs. "John!" the man shouted, not bothering to be quiet in case other people were sleeping. "John! Where are you?!"

More footsteps sounded, this time coming down from the upstairs. "Shhh!" John hissed in apparent irritation. "Lower your voice or you'll wake everyone up."

"Mrs. Hudson's been awake for hours, John. I know because I woke her to ask where she-" Still talking rather loudly, Hermione heard the man grunt as if John had smacked him on the arm or someplace else.

"Not Mrs. Hudson, you dolt. _Her_ ," John explained, probably pointing to where she was 'sleeping' on the sofa.

"Who's that?" This was spoken in a mere whisper, filled with curiosity. "A client?"

"No, I rescued her from some petty criminal last night. The man was beating her in the alley across the way." John's voice was soft, full of concern. "He didn't do anything else besides that, but I think he may have taken her belongings. I couldn't find any when I brought her back here."

"No identification then?"

"None."

"Then who is she?"

"When I asked, before she lost consciousness, she mumbled something that sounded like Harmony, but it was hard to tell." There were footsteps then, as if both John and the other man crept closer to examine her a little more. Hermione tried not to cringe at the name, wishing she could just tell them who she really was, but that would force her to admit she'd been eavesdropping the entire time.

"How extensive are her injuries?" the other man asked, his footsteps moving away slightly.

"Enough that she shouldn't be transported anywhere right now. I didn't want to call an ambulance and have her lost in the system." John too walked further away. "Now, can you be quiet? She's sleeping."

The other man hummed in a way that was condescending. It was almost as if he knew something John did not and with a start, Hermione realized he probably knew she was awake. Before she could roll over, however, the man simply said, "Fine. I'm going to catch a few hours sleep. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, I'll be upstairs so I can check on her when needed." And then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bother her. I'll check on her when I wake up later."

"Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."

Once both their footsteps had faded away, John's upstairs and the other man's down the hall, Hermione opened her eyes and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She really needed to be leaving but moving was not the best right now. In fact, Hermione shifted in an attempt to sit up. Pain erupted in her chest. Broken ribs were not conducive to making a quick and quiet exit. As her head gave another throb, she had to concede that with a possible concussion as well, she was going nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed her eyes, pulled the quilt around herself, and then allowed sleep to claim her once more.

. . . .

A light tapping on her shoulder woke her a few hours later, and as she opened her eyes, she had to admit to feeling slightly better. John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, blue eyes warm with concern. He smiled as she yawned and returned the gesture. "Morning," she mumbled before attempting to sit up. A groan left her as she remembered her possibly broken ribs.

"Whoa," John said gently, immediately reaching forward to aid her in sitting up. "Easy, now." He put one hand behind her back and then hoisted her so that her chest didn't ache as much as it would have had she tried to do this on her own. "There you go. I take it that you're not feeling any better than last night?"

"I'm conscious," she pointed out with a smirk. He laughed and then she added, "Thank you, by the way. For both helping me just now and saving my sorry arse last night in that alley. I should have been more aware of my surroundings."

"You're welcome, and it could have happened to anyone," he replied with a shrug. "It's just lucky that I happened to be walking by when it was going on or who knows what would have happened." He visibly shuddered and she frowned, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed her mind as well.

"Yes, well, I owe you." She reached out and patted his knee gently which earned her a warm smile.

"I'm John, by the way. Dr. John Watson," he told her then, turning to grab something on the coffee table. "I told you last night, but I wasn't sure if it registered. You were really out of it." He handed her two medicine tablets and a glass of water which she took gratefully. "And I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger, I can't really keep that sort of thing here at the flat but I will make sure to bring you something later."

Popping the tablets into her mouth, she drank some water to wash them down and then handed the glass back to John. "Thank you. I remembered your name, but I should probably introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Not Harmony." He laughed, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what you said last night or not. Well, either way, I'm glad to meet you, even under such circumstances. Here," he muttered, returning the glass to the table and handing her a hot mug of tea instead. "I'm sure you could use this. Sorry I don't have anything for you to eat, but Mrs. Hudson said she'd bring you up a late breakfast a little later."

Hermione took the tea and held it between both hands, relishing the warmth is radiated. "This is lovely, thanks. I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that's okay. Who is Mrs. Hudson?" Hermione asked canting her head in question.

"She's the landlady. Lives in the flat downstairs," John told her standing and brushing the wrinkles out of his trousers. "She insists she's not the housekeeper, but she pops upstairs to clean and cook now and then."

"Oh," Hermione replied, finally taking a sip of the tea. She felt it beginning to warm her from the inside out and smiled. "I don't want to be a burden. I could just leave."

"No way, Hermione," John said, the tone of his voice changing from concerned stranger to strict doctor in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow at the difference but he ignored her. "You're in no condition to travel right now, and I'd like to examine you again later. Unfortunately, I have to go to work for a few hours. I should be back by five or so if we don't get too many walk-ins."

"Do you work at a hospital?" she inquired, taking another sip of tea and not bothering to push the subject about her leaving.

"It's more of a clinic, really. My wife, Mary, works there too." He slid a hand into his pocket and then pulled out a mobile phone. "Speaking of that, I never asked; do you have someone you need to call?"

Hermione frowned. She knew he was insinuating that maybe she had a boyfriend or a husband that would be looking for her, but he was wrong. The only person who'd be looking for her was her best friend and coworker. "I am meant to be at work today so I should probably get in touch with Harry. He's my best friend and works with me."

"Here," John said simply, handing her his mobile. "You can give him a call with that."

Biting her lip, Hermione realized it was well after the normal start time at the Ministry. While they did carry mobiles, they were unable to receive calls with all the magic at the Ministry. Texts sometimes made it through, though. "Uh, is it okay if I text? It's just that, we're not supposed to receive calls at work and I don't want him to get in trouble."

"That's fine. Go right ahead. I'm going to run upstairs and grab a few things before I head out."

He left her then, disappearing out the door and up the stairs to where she suspected his bedroom was located. Her face crumpled in thought as she stared at the mobile. If he was married, where was Mary and why did they live with another man? Figuring it really was none of her business, she set about trying to figure out what to tell Harry so he wouldn't panic. She was already late, something entirely out of character for her, so she could only imagine what was going through his head.

 _Harry, I was attacked last night walking home. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby to help me out. I'm safe at the moment but 'all' of my belongings were taken. I'm staying with the doctor until I'm healed enough to travel. If you need me, you can reach me at this number._

It was the best she could do without confusing John, who she assumed would probably read the text when she gave the phone back later. She really couldn't say Muggle London, her wand was taken, or that she couldn't floo or apparate just yet. That would really set off alarm bells for the doctor, who would probably assume she needed a mental hospital instead. Yeah, Harry was just going to have to worry a while until he could give her a proper call later on.

John appeared with his jacket already on but as she held the mobile back out to him, he shook his head. "No, you go on and keep that today. I don't really need it. The only people who really call me are Mary and Sherlock."

"Okay…" She set the mobile on her lap and then bit her lip looking around. "Uh… Is it okay if I move around a little later, I might need the loo." She wanted to ask who Sherlock was, but thought that might be too forward.

"That slipped my mind, but yes. Just be really careful. I wrapped your wounds as best I could, but you need to be easy. Don't push yourself too hard." Clearing his throat, he turned and pointed down the hall, "The loo's down there. Door on the left, actually. The last door is Sherlock's room. Best not to go in there."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, remembering the voice of the man who was speaking with John earlier that morning. Craning her neck, she ignored the aching from where her attacker had tried strangling her so she could catch a glimpse of the closed door. Sherlock was a mystery to her, one she intended to solve before she left this flat.

"Yeah, my former flatmate. I used to live here before I married Mary and we had Rosie. Now, I live elsewhere but still occasionally stay the night if Sherlock and I are working a case." Clearing his throat, John glanced at his watch and made a face. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about himself once he's awake later. I have to go, but make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Hermione said sincerely, pulling her gaze from the door to smile up at him.

"Call me John, and really, it's no problem," he told her before disappearing down the stairs.

Sitting quietly, Hermione contemplated her situation for a while as she sipped her tea. Glancing across the room, she noticed a few shelves with books and found that she might as well get up and use the loo and grab a book to read before getting comfortable on the sofa for the day. It was bound to be long and tedious, a completely different change from the usual hussle and bussle of her regular schedule. In the meantime, she could ponder more on the elusive man who was still asleep behind the door at the end of the hall.

. . . .

It was well past one when Sherlock finally appeared. Hermione heard him before she saw him, his door quickly opening, followed by the shuffling of feet as he made his way into the kitchen. Resting her book in her lap, Hermione waited patiently for a glimpse of him. Mrs. Hudson had brought up lunch a little while ago, spending some time with Hermione before disappearing back downstairs. She seemed nice enough, a bit nosy, but definitely kind hearted. Now, Sherlock, he was the one Hermione was most interested in getting to know.

Random sounds echoed from the kitchen as he prepared himself some tea and then, finally, there he was. Hermione's eyes went wide seeing him wrapped in nothing but a white sheet from head to toe. He made no sign of noticing her where she sat still as a statue. Sherlock shuffled his way to a well-worn chair by the fireplace and curled up to thoughtfully sip his tea. A grin tugged at her lips knowing she was about to disrupt him from whatever thoughts held him so captivated.

"You must be Sherlock," she said simply, enjoying the way he stopped mid-sip to turn and stare at her with narrowed eyes. "John told me that this was your flat." When still Sherlock did not swallow his tea or make an effort to speak, her grin widened. "I'm Hermione," she prompted, hoping he would get the point and finally say something.

Something must have clicked in his head because he swallowed his mouthful of tea and set aside the mug. Slowly, Sherlock unfurled himself from the chair and walked toward her, his hands gripping his sheet tightly as if to keep it from falling from his obviously naked body. He stopped once he stood just on the other side of the coffee table, his sea-colored eyes examining her as if she were a specimen on the microscope she noticed he kept on the kitchen table. Although she was not the one wearing little to nothing, Hermione suddenly felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.

"Do you often walk around in nothing but a sheet?" she inquired, earning herself a sniff in response. It made her smirk, but she refused to break their stare.

"Sometimes I wear a dressing gown," Sherlock informed her, promptly stepping onto the coffee table and then off of it to sit at the other end of the sofa. She gave him a disgruntled look, but he ignored it to gesture at her with one hand. "Do you often spend the night on stranger's couches?"

Though she knew he meant it innocently enough, it still caused her to blanch. "Uh, no… Normally, I make it home in time to sleep in my own bed." Biting back a rude retort, she tried again. "I take it you'd rather I wasn't here?"

He gave her a once over again, his eyes lingering on the cut under her eye, the bruises around her neck, and the way she held her chest stiff to keep it from aching as she sat against the arm of the couch. "John felt you were not well enough to be taken to the hospital. I trust his judgement. You may stay as long as you may need." He stood and turned away, forgetting about his tea. Pausing halfway to his bedroom, he swiftly turned and gave her a curious glare. "Just stay out of my way."

As Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise, Sherlock whirled back around and then vanished into his bedroom once more. She certainly hadn't been expecting _that_ kind of response from John's friend. Frowning, she glanced back at the book in her lap, suddenly wondering if when Harry finally called she wouldn't ask if he could get a cab to rescue her from this place. Obviously, Sherlock didn't want her in his flat, and she truly had no idea why.

. . . .

John came home before Harry called, meaning she still hadn't been able to make a plan of escape. She'd spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading through a few books and listening for signs of movement from Sherlock's room. There were a few times she heard thumps or shuffling, but other than that, she'd been left completely alone. The silence was starting to really get to her so she was thankful for the company once again.

"Hey," he called out as he dumped a few bags of groceries on the table in the kitchen after shoving Sherlock's things aside. "I grabbed a few things to make dinner. How are you feeling?" He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked into the living room, his face pink from the cold but still there was a smile on his face.

"I'm feeling okay. Still really sore, but I can breathe a little easier," she informed him, setting aside the book she'd been reading. She would have been feeling _a lot_ better if she had access to her wand, but after checking the sleeve of her jacket earlier, she was disappointed to find that her attacker really had taken everything she had on her. Frowning, she looked at her lap. "Actually, I'm hoping my friend calls soon and can come and get me."

"What?" John asked, sitting down on the sofa. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I feel like I'm putting you out… I know you don't typically live here and I'm not sure I'm really welcome…" She glanced briefly at Sherlock's closed door and then back at John, who frowned.

John twisted around to stare at Sherlock's door too before glancing back at her. "Did Sherlock say something to you?" He sounded concerned, and a bit annoyed, if she was honest.

"Well, he told me to stay out of his way," she admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's not like I'm really in the way stuck here on the sofa. It's okay, though, Harry will come and get me if I ask."

"Absolutely not," John replied, jumping to his feet and already marching toward the back bedroom. "You're welcome here for as long as you need to heal. You're not going anywhere until those ribs of yours have healed enough to walk up and down stairs. Just give me a minute. I'll be right back and then I'll make dinner."

Hermione didn't say anything in reply before he was pounding on Sherlock's door. She tried to peek and see what was happening as the door cracked open, but John forced his way inside and slammed it shut. Hermione blinked in surprise as the shouting started, mostly John, but she could hear Sherlock's baritone interjecting now and then. This went on for nearly ten minutes all while Hermione sat idly on the couch, feeling more embarrassed than before. She didn't want to cause a rift between the two friends, especially since she could easily have Harry come and heal her enough to take her home.

She couldn't admit that to John and Sherlock, though, not without violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Instead, she sat there awkwardly until John came back out, slamming the door again, before pausing to smile down at her on the couch. He clapped both hands together and smiled. "Right, then," he began, "I'm going to make dinner and then we'll check your bandages and give you some _real_ pain medicine."

"Okay," was all she could manage in response before he was turning and heading back to the kitchen.

There was no more noise from Sherlock's room that evening, but when she woke sometime in the middle of the night to use the loo, she found the bedroom door wide open. Looking back and forth briefly to make sure she was alone, she snuck a peek into the room to find it empty as well. Where was Sherlock and why was he so against having her in the flat? Whatever the reason, Hermione was certain that it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Surely, Harry would get back to her in the morning and then she could be free of this place and then Sherlock could go back to having the flat to himself.

. . . .

Morning came, and with it, the realization that Christmas was only a few days away. When Hermione opened her eyes it was to find Mrs. Hudson decorating a Christmas tree against the wall between the door and the kitchen, the lights and most of the bulbs already making the branches look festive and charming. Before alerting the landlady to her awakeness, Hermione glanced around to make sure no one else was present, specifically Sherlock. They were alone, so Hermione struggled into a sitting position and greeted the landlady.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. She was feeling a little worse for wear, two nights sleeping on a sofa not exactly conducive to healing.

Upon hearing her voice, Mrs. Hudson turned around with a candy cane in her hand and a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, dear. I hope I didn't wake you."

Finally comfortable, Hermione shook her head. "No, it wasn't you. I don't typically sleep this much as it is. The tree looks beautiful."

"Thank you, dear. Sherlock can't be bothered to decorate for the holiday so I took matters into my own hands. We don't usually have guests for Christmas," she told her as she hung the candy cane on a bare branch. Stepping back, Mrs. Hudson admired her work and then wandered into the kitchen. She began making tea but kept up the conversation. "John mentioned that you would probably need to stay at least until the end of the week."

"He did?" Hermione asked, shocked by this news. He hadn't mentioned it to her. She was under the impression that she could leave as soon as she was able to move without cringing in agony. It was true she wasn't there yet, but it was getting better. "Was he here this morning?"

"He was," Mrs. Hudson answered, bringing her a cup of tea and then returning to the tree. "He checked you over and said to tell you to check the mobile when you woke up." She pointed to where it sat on the coffee table.

Frowning, Hermione reached for the device and saw there was a text message reply from Harry finally. She quickly opened it and began to read, her frown deepening with every word…

 _Hermione, I'm glad to hear you're safe. Things are a bit… hectic… right now at work. Everyone is all hands on deck but we're glad you're someplace safe. It might be a good idea for you to stay where you are, if you're able to. I'll call when everything settles down. Talk to you soon._

Whatever was going on at the Ministry must be bad enough that Harry would to insist she stay away. Perhaps it was related to her attacker? Heart beating frantically, she set aside the mobile and reached for the tea instead. She needed something to calm her nerves and ease her mind. Tea was as close as she was going to get right now, it seemed. Sipping the drink, she watched as Mrs. Hudson resumed decorating the tree.

"So it looks like I'm going to be here for Christmas," Hermione said quietly, her heart sinking as she thought about the unwelcome way Sherlock had made her feel just yesterday. She bit her lip and set the mug in her lap. "I hope that's okay." She peered up through her eyelashes to find Mrs. Hudson staring at her.

Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily and then came to sit by her, one hand moving to rest on her knee. "Don't you worry, Hermione. You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need." The kind way Mrs. Hudson was looking at her made tears spring to her eyes and the landlady quickly handed her a clean tissue from the pocket of her dress. "Don't you fret. Whatever is happening will blow over, and don't you mind Sherlock either."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

"Yes, he's always a little testy at the holidays but don't let him get to you." She frowned then and crossed her arms. "I really should call his mother about the way he treated you. John told me everything, of course. But don't you worry, we're going to make the flat up for Christmas and help you get back on your feet."

Hermione really didn't know what else to say for the moment so she simply nodded and thanked Mrs. Hudson for being so kind. They spent the rest of the morning chatting while the tree was finished and other decorations were added to the room. By the time Sherlock appeared at the door, eyes narrowed at his landlady, Hermione was feeling much better. She met his gaze when he glanced her way and attempted a smile, but it was not returned. Instead, he turned and again vanished into his room, leaving her to wonder if she was truly welcome at all.

. . . .

"John?"

"Yeah?" the doctor asked, glancing up from the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting in the red chair by the fireplace, one foot slowly rocking the baby carrier his daughter, Rosie, was resting in on the floor.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her lifeless curls. She was in desperate need of a shower, or a bath, which she noticed was the only option in the loo. "Do you think that you'd help me get into the bath?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, hating that she had to ask for help with something so simple. Only, she knew she'd never be able to get into the old fashioned bathtub on her own right now. Her broken ribs were still giving her trouble, but there was no way she could go another day without bathing. "I was going to ask Mary earlier, but she didn't stay."

"Oh…" John looked slightly embarrassed as well, but then his doctor instinct kicked in and his face resumed its natural calm. He cleared his throat and stood from the chair to set the paper on the side table. He gave the sleeping Rosie a quick glance before making his way over to where she was still stuck on the sofa. "Sure, that's not a problem. It never even occurred to me that you might want to bath."

"I'm well enough right? I just can't stand another day like this," she told him, pointing at her dirty hair. "I'm used to taking a shower every day at home."

"I'm sorry, and yeah, let's ease you up." He helped her to stand, although she'd become used to doing so on her own. He led her to the bathroom and then they both stood there awkwardly. "So how do you want to do this?" he asked finally, not quite meeting her eyes.

"How about you turn around while I take off my clothes? Then I can stand in the tub wrapped in a towel," she offered, biting at her lip as she tried to keep her cheeks from coloring again.

"Right. Then I'll just help you to sit and you can run the water and do whatever you need to." John grabbed for a towel, again not looking her in the eye. This was way more awkward than she was hoping for, but they were both adults and he was a doctor. He'd examined her two days ago while she was unconscious. Sure, she wasn't entirely nude, but he must have see her chest at some point.

"That works for me," she replied quietly, accepting the towel and waiting for him to turn around. She undressed carefully, setting her button-up shirt, dress pants, and undergarments on the counter before wrapping the towel around her. "Ready."

John turned around and then they began the difficult task of getting her in the bathtub. It took more effort than they thought, and was a tad more painful than she'd hoped. By the time she was settled, her chest ached and she was breathing heavily. "Are you alright?" he asked, giving her a worried look.

"I'll be okay. The hot water will help, I hope," she said, not quite wanting to admit how much pain she was currently experiencing.

John exhaled slowly and then looked around the bathroom. "I'm going to take your clothes to get washed. I have a few of Mary's things upstairs that should fit you." He made for the door, grabbing the handle so he could close it for her privacy.

"Thank you," she muttered, causing him to stop and give her a smile.

"You're welcome, Hermione. Just give a shout when you're ready to get out. And then he left her, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hermione set about getting the water in the tub. She took care her hair first knowing that would take most of her energy. When that was taken care of, she quickly washed the rest of her body and then settled back to simply relax in the warm water. Closing her eyes, she thought about her strange predicament and wondered what was happening in the wizarding world. She was so relaxed that she didn't even hear the door open at first. It wasn't until she heard the scuff of a shoe and an intake of breath that her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at the startled face of Sherlock.

She blinked at him once, then twice before he finally averted his gaze. "I apologize, Ms. Granger," he mumbled, already backing toward the door. Obviously, he hadn't known there was anyone in the bathroom, or he was too distracted to notice. Having already been off to a rough start, Hermione wanted desperately to try and rectify that.

"Please," she said, stopping him from leaving. "You can call me Hermione." She wasn't worried about him seeing her naked, the water full of bubbles from when she'd shampooed her hair. He still seemed so uncomfortable as he looked briefly at the door and then back to her. His hand dropped from where it held the doorknob as he obviously decided to stay for a moment.

"I am sorry then, Hermione. I did not know that the bathroom was occupied. I'll leave you to finish your bath," he informed her with a single nod. He did meet her eyes this time, and his were not unkind as they previously were. Actually, this was the first time she'd seen him for longer than a minute since that first encounter. He'd been scarce, obviously coming and going when she was asleep.

"It's okay. I probably should be getting out anyway before my skin gets all wrinkly." She made a face and then laughed but stopped short as her chest gave a pain. She moved her one hand to rest over it, the water sloshing slightly,

"You should be careful," Sherlock warned, taking a step toward the bath as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Your fractured ribs are still fragile right now. Do you need help getting out from the bath?" He stopped by the edge of the tub, his head turning to search for what, she did not know.

"Well, actually, John said that he would come and get me when I needed out," she began to explain, but Sherlock quickly cut her off.

"John's feeding Rosie and she's being fussy," he stated simply and then stormed from the room. Hermione sat there in shock again, blinking stupidly as she wondered where he had gone and if she should call for John, after all. Before she could, however, Sherlock returned with the clothes John had promised and set them on the counter. Turning his back to her he snapped, "Let the water out, dry off, and then wrap yourself in the towel. I'll help you from the bath. I've already let John know."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. Was he serious? When she heard him sigh in agistation, she got to work, removing the stopper and waiting for the water to drain. It took longer than she wished, but when it was gone, she quickly dried off, trying not to irritate her injuries. After wrapping herself so that not a single indecent part of her was showing, she exhaled and informed Sherlock she was ready. He turned around quickly and inspected her and the bathtub as if calculating the best way to get her from inside. Muttering, more to himself than her, he said "It's the only way…"

Then he swooped forward, leaned over, and slid one arm under her bent knees before sliding the other under her arms. Before she could ask what he was doing, he was lifting her from the tub as if she were his newly wedded wife. She let out a little yelp, but he told her to relax. She did and it made the transition much easier. Once free of the tub, he helped to settle her on her feet and swifty turned from her once more. "Go on and get dressed. I'm going to take you into my room so you can sleep on a proper bed tonight. You'll never heal properly if you continue to sleep on that lumpy, old sofa."

"What?" Hermione asked, her hand pausing as she reached for the lounge pants and t-shirt John found for her to wear. "I can't sleep in your bed."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Sherlock sighed in irritation. "Of course you can. Now, do hurry up. You've moved around far more than you ought to be doing this evening and need to relax or those fractured ribs will never heal."

Staring at Sherlock's back, Hermione found herself speechless. What had John said to him to change his demeanor toward her so drastically? Just yesterday he was snapping at her to not get in his way and now… Now, he was willing giving her his bed to use until she was healed. Something inside of Hermione warmed at that, and she smiled finally reaching for the clothes and getting dressed. When she was finished, she tapped Sherlock lightly on the shoulder. He turned around and gave her a once over, nodding when he found her acceptable. Carefully, he placed his arm around her waist and began to lead her from the bathroom without saying another word.

Christmas lights twinkled along both sides of the hall outside the bathroom, and Hermione smiled as they helped light the way into the bedroom. She was still uncertain as to whether or not this was a good idea, but she didn't say so aloud. Sherlock's arm around her waist felt strong and comforting, something which she never would have guessed considering his cold outward appearance. When they were inside the bedroom, she turned and grinned so hard the cut on her cheek pulled, but she didn't notice the pain.

It appeared Mrs. Hudson had decorated every room of the flat, the wall above Sherlock's bed adorned with a haphazard strand of Christmas lights. Hermione couldn't help the giggle that left her lips when she saw it. The lights turned Sherlock's otherwise drab room into something a little more... _special_ , as it were. Not bothering to comment on the lights, Hermione allowed Sherlock to help her sit on the edge of the bed before he moved to adjust the pillows against the headboard. She watched without saying a word, both unsure what to say and afraid of breaking their amicable silence. When he was finished, he nodded and she understood that she was meant to get settled.

When she was comfortable, Sherlock lifted the thick quilt over her legs. It was much thicker than the one she was using on the couch and she smoothed her hands over the soft surface waiting for him to speak. She didn't have to wait long. "Are you comfortable?"

She nodded. "I am, thank you; although, now I get to feel bad about taking your bed too." She bit back her grin, watching as he rolled his eyes and walked over to the window. He fiddled with the latch, making sure it was secured before facing her once more. Was he concerned for her safety too? He turned around and ran a hand through his dark curls.

"It's nothing. I hardly use it." Silence settled around them again and Hermione found she didn't quite want Sherlock to leave the room yet. She was just starting to get to know him, his mystery unraveling with each passing moment. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she originally thought he was? Sighing, Sherlock clearly came to some sort of conclusion and walked back over to the bed. Reaching underneath it, he pulled out a box of books and placed it on the nightstand. "I noticed that you like to read. Feel free to pursue these tonight."

"Thank you," she replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. After the way Sherlock treated her before, his change in demeanor was throwing her for a loop. Clearing her throat, she decided she might as well push her luck and ease the tension between them even more. "I really do want to thank you for allowing me to stay here," she said softly, placing one hand on his forearm before he could move away. "I know that you'd rather I left, but I do want you to know I appreciate this all the same."

Sherlock peered down at her hand, his face softening ever so slightly. Sighing, he removed her hand from his arm and backed away. He stared at her for a long moment as if unsure what to say next. Eventually, he inhaled, exhaled, and then met her unwavering stare. "You're welcome. You may stay for as long as you need. I am the one who should apologize. Your presence here is not nearly as horrible as I originally feared it would be. Goodnight, Hermione." And then he slipped from the room, leaving Hermione sitting underneath the Christmas lights with more questions than answers about the man known as Sherlock Holmes.


	9. Melt With Me

**Author's Note:** Sigh. This turned out just so cute and pretty. I love it so much. In fact, I've loved all of the Holmes for the Holidays fics and I hope you have too. I appreciate all the feedback I've received! Thank you! Only three more after this plus the bonus New Year's one which will be the second part to Light the Way! Thanks again!

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading and helping find me pics for the aesthetic! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Melt With Me_ _  
_Rated: M  
Written for Duchess_of_Strumpetness who encourages me to write anything and everything, but especially all the slash! Thank you for being super supportive and encouraging. I can't wait for you to read this! Much love!  
Prompt: they've been out ice skating and one or both end up with a wet bum from falling over, they head home to have a hot bath to warm up  
Song Recommendation: "Baby's it's cold Outside" duet by Idina Menzel and Michael Buble  
Summary: _In which an ice skating trip doesn't go according to plan but Sherlock's scheme to get Hermione to spend the night does._

. . . .

" _I wish I knew how, to break this spell."  
"I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell."  
_\- Baby it's Cold Outside,  
Idina Menzel & Michael Bublè

. . . .

It was excessively cold outside, and Hermione and Sherlock had just returned from ice skating at Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland. They'd only been dating a few short months, so this was their first holiday season together. Of course, Hermione insisted they try to participate in as many winter festivities as possible in order to get to know one another better. Sherlock being himself, took on the challenge, eagerly wanting to show Hermione he was willing to get better at the whole relationship thing. And he'd been doing so well…

Ice skating was _not_ Sherlock's forte. At all. In fact, he was rather horrid. For all the poise and grace he displayed on a normal basis, throwing the brilliant detective onto ice wearing nothing but a pair of rental skates was problematic. Sherlock had wobbled to and fro, as well as side to side in an attempt to stay upright. Hermione had bit back so many giggles from watching her boyfriend try not to fall that her bottom lip was sore! Nevertheless, Sherlock hadn't wanted to admit defeat and insisted they stay even after Hermione suggested they try the rides or visit one of the two circuses instead.

So the pair of them had attempted to skate around the rink together, dodging other skaters as Hermione tried to help Sherlock remain upright. It was fun, in Hermione's opinion, even if her boyfriend probably disagreed. Hermione gave him credit, though, he really kept his spirits up through the ordeal. That is, until his ankles started to get sore and his balance became even worse. That's when the falling started and Hermione simply wasn't strong enough to hold him up. Gosh, it must have been about four or five times his skates had flown right out from under him, sending him skittering across the ice on his bottom.

Poor Sherlock, Hermione thought as she stood outside the cab waiting for him to finish paying for their ride. As the cab drove off, Sherlock finally turned and and frowned at her, disappointment clearly etched across the furrow of his brow. "Come on, love," she mumbled, hiding a smile as she took his hand. "Let's get you and your soggy bottom inside before you catch a cold."

"My bottom is not _soggy_ ," Sherlock replied a bit snippily, but he took her hand all the same. Allowing her to lead him inside 221B and upstairs to his flat, he continued to frown over the entire situation.

"Really, Sherlock… It's okay that you're not good at ice skating. I'm horrid at flying on a broom _and_ Wizard's Chess, so it's nothing to be so torn up about," Hermione told him as they entered the flat, letting go of his hand so she could remove her coat and boots.

"I wanted you to have a lovely evening," Sherlock admitted, removing his own coat and hanging it up before reaching for Hermione's to do the same. "I fear that our evening was cut rather short. Did you even enjoy yourself at all?"

Laughing a little, Hermione stepped close to Sherlock and wrapped her hands around his waist as she laid her head on his chest. Sighing happily, she waited for his own hands to wrap around her before she spoke. "Of course I had a lovely time, Sherlock. Anytime I'm with you, whether it's picking you up off the ice or wrapped in your embrace, I'm at peace." Not waiting for a response, Hermione slid up onto her tiptoes and kissed him lightly.

Returning the kiss, his tongue slid into her eager mouth. She tasted of hot chocolate and smelled of snow and ice. Moaning, Sherlock felt the stress of the evening beginning to melt away the longer he held Hermione in his arms. She was the one constant in his life, always willing to embrace his flaws even if he, himself, wasn't. When he pulled away, breathless, he stared down into her warm eyes and figured he'd take a chance on the witch.

"Stay with me tonight?" he asked, unsure if she would accept his offer. They'd been together for just over three months, their relationship still so new. They had yet to spend the night in one another's arms, let alone go much further than kissing. Tonight, however, Sherlock felt he was ready to take that next step with Hermione. In fact, he could surely see spending every night for the rest of his life with her, but that was a thought to ponder further down the road.

Hardly able to keep the smile from her face, Hermione reached up and cupped his cheek. "As much as I would love to, I have to work early and you know how Ginny whines when I leave her alone at the flat." When he frowned, Hermione sighed and took off her hat. "I can stay for a little bit longer, though."

Sherlock inhaled and nodded, lips pursed as he tried to hold back his disappointment. "Okay," he said, not really knowing what else to add. "I am in need of a change of clothes and perhaps a quick bath; that is, if you don't mind keeping yourself occupied for half an hour?"

"That's no problem," Hermione agreed, running a hand through her disheveled hair and glancing around the room. "I can easily read a book or something for that long. Then, do you want to watch a Christmas movie?"

"Sure." Sherlock would do whatever she asked, so long as she stayed with him this evening. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, he might actually convince her to spend the night. "You may pick. I have no idea what the difference between a regular and a holiday movie is…" He flashed her an obnoxious grin, earning him a laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione started to say and then realized, he was probably telling the truth. "Never mind. Hurry up and take your bath. I'll be waiting!" She pushed him lightly in the direction of the loo, giving him a playful swat on his damp behind for good measure.

Sherlock smirked to himself as he hurried toward the bathroom, shutting the door so that it was merely cracked open and then began to strip out of his clothes. He put his damp clothing in the hamper and then prepared the bath, filling it with hot water and adding some sort of scented bubble mixture John insisted was good for the skin. Within moments, Sherlock found himself relaxing in the bath, his aching bottom a forgotten memory as he tried to formulate a plan of action. Luckily, he didn't have to think for long, Hermione giving him the perfect excuse to orchestrate a reason for her to remain here tonight.

"Hey, Sherlock?" he heard Hermione call from the kitchen, the sounds of her rifling through his refrigerator echoing down the hall and into the small bathroom. "Do we have any wine?"

Smirking, he cleared his throat and decided he might as well give it a try…

"What?" he shouted, although he'd heard her just fine. He needed to get her into the bathroom for this to work.

"Wine!" Hermione called again, "Do we still have that bottle or did we drink it?"

"I'm sorry, love," he said just loud enough for her to hear. "I can't hear what you're saying!" When he heard the refrigerator click shut and then the soft padding of feet on the floor, Sherlock knew he had her. He waited patiently for the knock on the door, her knuckles rapped softly as if unsure she should enter. Sherlock smirked and settled lower in the bathtub, the water covering his body so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable. "You may come in."

Hermione pushed open the door slowly, her eyes averted and her cheeks flushed. "Sorry, I thought you might be able to hear me if I shouted loud enough…" She bit her lip and hesitantly moved closer to the bathtub, looking everywhere but at him.

"Strange acoustics in this old flat," Sherlock deftly lied, bringing his hand up out of the water and gesturing at the ceiling. He smiled as her gaze followed his wet hand, and then finally settled on his face. "So what were you shouting about?"

"I was wondering if we had any wine in the flat, or if we drank it all last week when I was over." Hermione's heart was racing as she tried not to sneak a peek at Sherlock. His body was submerged in the bubbly bathwater so everything was covered, but she didn't want to seem imprudent. The skin of his upper chest and neck was slightly pink from the heat of the water and she found herself slowly inching closer toward him. "If not… I can make tea."

"It should be in the kitchen somewhere," Sherlock informed her, casually extending his hand to her. She took it without thinking, a move she would either regret or look back on happily. Brushing his thumb across the back of her hand, Sherlock smiled up at her, his sea-colored eyes twinkling. "Although, I have a much better idea of how you can pass the time waiting for me to get out of the bath than looking for wine."

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, still completely oblivious to the situation she'd walked into. "And what's that?"

"You can join me," he said bluntly, and then proceeded to tug her into the bathtub with him.

Her wide-eyed look of panic was comical, as was the way her arms flew out in front of her in an attempt to keep from falling into the bathwater. Sherlock caught Hermione easily, wrapping his arms around her so she wouldn't hit off the sides and injure herself as water splashed all around them. This was meant to be fun, not painful, and as she settled against his chest, eyes squeezed shut, he exhaled in relief. He'd been successful, and now he waited for her to either be furious or find mirth in the situation.

"Sherlock!" Hermione sputtered, shaking water and bubbles from her face and hair. Blinking down at her boyfriend in shock, Hermione realized he was trembling with laughter. Laughter! He was laughing at her! Smacking his naked chest, she tried to untangle herself but her wet clothing was making things difficult and she found herself face-planting right back against him. "Ooomph!"

Now Sherlock was laughing aloud, his body quaking and causing the already disturbed bathwater to slosh about precariously. He suspected a good amount had already found its way onto the floor, a fact Mrs. Hudson would probably murder him for later. "Do be careful, Hermione," Sherlock managed to say through his laughter.

" _Really_ , Sherlock? Be careful? You just pulled me into the tub. Fully clothed!" Again Hermione attempted to get free, but Sherlock held her still.

Shifting slightly, and ignoring the furious glare from his girlfriend, Sherlock spread his legs so she could kneel between them. "I'm sorry, but the opportunity presented itself and I couldn't resist."

"You're insufferable, did you know that?" Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her ruined hair. Placing her hands on Sherlock's chest, she suddenly realized the position they were in. "My clothes are soaked."

"You could take them off," he suggested, trailing one finger along her jaw. He felt her shiver, but not from the cold.

"Sherlock…" Hermione trailed off, suddenly realizing where this was headed. They hadn't talked about moving forward in their relationship but it appeared he was showing her he was ready. As a shiver of desire ran through her body, Hermione realized she was too.

"Shhhh," he told her, placing his finger over her lips, eyes full of such passion that Hermione was sure she would melt if made of ice. He found the bottom of her sweater and lifted the slick material, thankful when Hermione's arms rose to help him. He let it hit the floor beside the tub with a slap and then returned his gaze to Hermione. He reached around her back and unclasped her bra, and then that too joined her sweater.

Slowly, Hermione moved to stand in the bathtub, eyes never looking away from Sherlock as she undid the fasten on her jeans and shimmied out of them and her knickers. Sherlock lifted them out of the tub, obviously not bothered by the amount of water now flowing over the bathroom floor. Feeling her cheeks burn, she tried not to feel embarrassed at being so utterly exposed. It wasn't like she was a blushing virgin, and neither was Sherlock if what John had told her about _The Woman_ was true. Still, this was _their_ first time, and she wanted it to be special.

"You're beautiful," Sherlock breathed out, his words reverent as he worshiped her with his eyes. She blushed prettily at his compliment, her mumbled thank you barely audibly over the beating of his heart. Taking her hand again, he helped her back down into the water, immediately embracing her and capturing her lips for a kiss.

Hermione relaxed into his arms, their skin sliding against one another easily in the bubbly water. Sherlock turned their bodies so that they were laying in one another's arms and she could feel his erection against her hip. She moaned into the kiss, her hand moving to card through his wet curls. Tugging lightly, she deepened the kiss, wanting more of him. Why had she declined his offer to stay the night again? As his tongue slid against hers, tasting and teasing, she could no longer remember. Pulling back to take a breath, she met his eyes and whispered, "Please, Sherlock?"

"Are you sure?" he asked, still uncertain if this was what she wanted; after all, she had originally wanted to go home.

"Yes." Hermione nodded, her hand sliding from his hair to rest at the base of his neck. Watching his eyes light up and a smile grace his lips, Hermione felt her heart swell with happiness. "I want you, Sherlock."

Instead of replying, Sherlock kissed her and shifted so that his cock was aligned at her core. As he slid inside of her, she gasped in pleasure, ending their kiss. He wasted no time, helping her hook one leg around his waist as they began to rock together. Water sloshed around them, but they paid it no mind. The bathroom was already drenched and could be taken care of later easily enough with a spell. Dropping his face to the crook of her neck, Sherlock panted as he filled her over and over, and over again.

Hermione found herself incapable of speaking as Sherlock made love to her, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Desire continued to coil in her lower abdomen, signaling the beginning of the end. She wanted this moment to last forever, this first time with Sherlock beautiful and fun all at the same time. He thrust into her over and over, causing her to mumble words of affection against his chest. Within moments she felt her orgasm cresting, his ministrations sending her over the edge into oblivion.

As she came apart in his arms, Sherlock continued to move within her. He held such affection for the witch and wanted her to feel complete and loved in his arms. They weren't quite ready for such declarations, but he felt it all the same. Unable to hold back any longer, Sherlock moved his lips back to hers for a kiss and finally allowed himself his own release. Hermione smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his back, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust as he emptied himself entirely.

As their bodies slowed and the water stopped threatening to splash over the edges of the bathtub, Sherlock let himself slide from her body before pulling her into his arms. Together, they rested, regaining their breath and wrapping their minds around what just happened. Sherlock was unable to keep the grin from his face, a fact Hermione did not miss. She smirked and shook her head in an attempt to be annoyed.

She failed miserably.

"I really should be furious with you, you know?" She teased, trailing her fingers down his chest. "What if I had plans tonight?"

"I knew that you were free," Sherlock told her with his typical smugness.

"Always so clever," Hermione mumbled, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. They were quiet for a spell, Hermione simply enjoying the feel of the warm bath as it eased any remaining trepidations she had regarding Sherlock and their relationship. Eventually, Sherlock used his thumb and forefinger to lift her chin so he could look in her eyes.

"So, does this mean that you'll stay the night with me, after all?" Sherlock asked, still unsure if she would agree to his request. As she rolled her eyes playfully and then flicked some bubbles at his face, he realized he was certainly falling for this witch.

"I'll stay with you, Sherlock," she said and then as if to assure him further, captured his lips in another kiss that left him breathless and wanting more. "Now, we'd better get out before the water goes cold and we freeze to death." After cleaning up the bathroom, dressing, and finding that missing bottle of wine, Sherlock and Hermione spent the rest of the evening curled together on the sofa, perfectly content in one another's arms.


	10. Traditions and Treats

**Author's Note:** Okay so I really wasn't sure this one was getting done because of having to travel and a myriad of other things right now. It's done and ready to be shared. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you for any and all feedback!

Thank you to starrnobella for the quick beta read! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

. . . . . . .

 _Traditions and Treats_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for NekoWeirdo who has been following me for quite some time. Thank you for staying with me through all my many twists and turns! I hope you love this! _  
_Prompt: Hermione and Sherlock decides to research Christmas traditions from different parts of the world.  
Song Recommendation: "Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas" by Andrew Belle  
Summary: _In which Sherlock attempts to bake Christmas treats and Hermione realizes that the holiday is about more than following traditions._

. . . .

" _Let your heart be light.  
From now on,  
Our troubles will be out of sight."  
_\- Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas,  
Andrew Belle

. . . .

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?" Hermione called out sometime later when he still hadn't responded. Coming into the living room from the bedroom, she found her boyfriend sitting at the desk, eyes focused on his laptop screen. "Sherlock, do you even hear me?"

When he still didn't respond, Hermione sighed and stalked over to where he was scrolling through some seemingly random website. She was trying to make sure he was ready for Harry and Ginny's Christmas party later this evening. Standing behind him, hands on her hips and a frown upon her face, she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Do you remember when we said we were going to research Christmas traditions?" Sherlock asked, finally sitting back and setting his gaze upon her.

Hermione's face fell in confusion. She did recall a conversation about _maybe_ trying different foods for the holidays, but that was ages ago… "Uh, yeah. I guess. What's that have to do with Harry and Ginny's party?"

"I've been scrolling through this website and thought we might try a few traditions." Standing suddenly, Sherlock walked past her and into the kitchen. He acted as if he hadn't heard her questions.

Blinking at his retreating back, Hermione felt confused. With a start, she realized he needed to be headed to the bedroom to change for the party, not to the kitchen where he was rifling through the cabinets looking for only Merlin knew what. Taking a deep, even breath, Hermione followed after him, hoping to get to the bottom of this.

"What are you doing?" she asked, setting both hands on the back of a chair as she watched Sherlock begin to place random ingredients on the countertop. Hermione ignored the fact that there were numerous chemicals and leftover experiments littering the surface as well, potentially contaminating whatever he set there. "Are you going to answer me, or are you going to continue blatantly ignoring me?"

As if finally realizing Hermione wasn't privy to whatever thought process was going through his head, Sherlock paused his search of the cupboards and turned to her. "This is for the party, Hermione. We're going to prepare pitha. I believe the Potter's will enjoy the dessert rather than the fruitcake you bought for them."

"Pitha." Hermione repeated the word. When Sherlock merely nodded, she shook her head, indicating she had no idea what that was.

"Pitha is a dessert traditionally eaten on Christmas in Bangladesh, and we just so happen to have all of the ingredients. If we hurry, we may be able to prepare it in time for the party tonight." Sherlock was obviously very eager to attempt such a feat as he began searching for clean utensils and measuring cups.

"We're meant to be at their house in two hours, Sherlock. We don't have time to bake." Hermione stepped around the table to stand next to her boyfriend. Previously, he'd not shown any interest in trying different holiday foods, until now. "Can't we just make these tomorrow? And what's wrong with my fruitcake?"

"Ginny hates fruitcake. She'll prefer these," Sherlock replied as if the answer was obvious. Sometimes she really detested that mind of his. Handing her a glass jar of molasses he said, "Here, you can do the measuring."

"I don't really think…" Seeing the hopeful look in his eyes, Hermione puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled away her frustration. Closing her eyes and running a hand through her magically straightened hair, she thought about how she would probably live to regret this. However, if Sherlock wanted to make good on a promise to celebrate traditions from around the world, that's what she would do. "Alright, fine. How much do you need?"

. . . .

They'd been late to the party, of course, the pitha taking far longer to prepare than Hermione had hoped. Even with magic helping them along, they didn't arrive until nearly two hours into the celebration. Shoving their jackets in the closet by the kitchen, Hermione watched as Sherlock proudly carried their dessert into the dining room.

"What took so long?" Ginny asked, eyeing Hermione's hair. It had started to go curly again after having run her fingers through it so many times in frustration.

"Sherlock… He insisted we try making a new dessert to bring," Hermione explained, shutting the door and then leaning back on it for support.

"I didn't think he could cook," Ginny admitted, watching as Sherlock handed the little treats to anyone willing to try.

"When it comes to chemicals and crime scenes, he's brilliant… Baking… Not so much." Sighing, Hermione gave her friend a smile. "But it made him happy, so what am I to do?"

"Are they any good?" Ginny inquired, eyebrow raised as Sherlock made his way toward them with the tray. Behind his back Harry was chewing the pitha thoughtfully, but with each passing second, his chewing slowed and his frown became more prominent.

"Uh," Hermione started to say but Sherlock interrupted.

"Good evening, Ginny. Care to try the pitha Hermione and I made?" He held out the tay, right under her nose so she wouldn't be able to back away. Hermione gave her friend what she hoped was a supportive smile and then waited patiently as Ginny took one of the little pastries.

"Sure, I don't see why not."

Sherlock beamed and then waited for her to take a bite. He looked so proud of what they'd made that Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that Harry had just spit his out into a napkin. Hopefully, Ginny wouldn't have the same reaction. After a full minute or so, Ginny finally finished chewing and swallowed.

"Well," she began, glancing first at Hermione and then back to Sherlock. "It's definitely not something I would have tried before. Thank you for bringing them. Do you want to set the rest on the table in the kitchen?"

Sherlock nodded and then whisked past the two witches, pausing briefly to drop a kiss to Hermione's cheek. She blushed prettily, thankful for the rare show of affection in front of others. Sherlock's, eyes twinkled and he placed the pitha on the table and then wandered back into the living room and Hermione found herself unable to keep from smiling. Oh, how she adored that man. She was lucky to have stumbled into him during an MLE investigation gone awry.

"That was awful," Ginny whispered into her ear after Sherlock found Harry and Ron to talk with. Ron was overly fascinated with Sherlock, always looking forward to hearing about his latest cases. "You need to tell him."

Hermione laughed and shook her head, looping an arm through Ginny's as she watched her boyfriend and her friends. "Oh, I'm sure he knows."

"How are you so sure? He seems rather pleased with himself." Ginny quirked her head, watching Sherlock act out one of his captures.

"He snuck this into his coat pocket," Hermione said with a chuckle, revealing the rectangular dessert she'd found tucked into his pocket. She handed it to Ginny, who wrinkled her nose.

"Ew. I hate fruitcake." Nevertheless, Ginny began to unwrap the dessert and took it to the table with the other food and snack items. She gave Hermione a wink, indicating she wasn't really as disgusted as she seemed.

"He knows, which is why we brought the pitha." Meeting Sherlock's eye, she smiled affectionately. She suspected that Sherlock had forgotten about her wish to try new traditions but remembered in a moment of clarity after his case was solved. He was good for that, always getting back to her wishes when there was a chance.

"Ugh, well maybe next time you two can bring something we all actually enjoy, hmm?" Ginny gave her hip a playful bump with her own and then ventured off to scold Lily for trying to throw their cat into the Christmas tree. "How many times do I have to tell you, your cat is not an ornament!"

"Yeah, maybe…" Hermione trailed off, leaning against the door jamb as she watched her boyfriend interact with her friends. It didn't matter if they never got around to trying anymore traditions because as long as she had Sherlock and her friends at Christmas, she would be happy. And wasn't that what Christmas was all about?


	11. Finding You

**Author's Note:** I can't believe we're nearing the end of this collection already! I've really enjoyed writing these one-shots and hope that you've enjoyed them as well. This one is a bit different and mostly in Sherlock's POV! I do adore him ever so much. Enjoy!

Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading and SquarePeg72 for not only alpha reading and helping with the title but also for the poems used throughout the story! You really should hop over to her profile and check out all her wonderful poetry and prose! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Finding You_ _  
_Rated: T  
Written for Freya Ishtar who came into my life because we both were coincidentally writing Loki/Hermione at the same time and bonded over our fics. I'm so thankful that I can call you one of my writer friends and that we continue to bond over our love of Marvel and anything Seb or Tom! I adore you endlessly and hope that this story lifts your spirits this holiday season!  
Prompt: Hermione tries to stump him. Knowing his penchant for solving mysteries, have her set up a "find the clues/solve this puzzles"-type scavenger hunt to find his present. Maybe she has some type of devious 'penalty' if he doesn't find it in a set time frame? Because to her, that would seem the perfect 'present' for Holmes-a puzzle to solve that leads to his actual present.  
Song Recommendation: "All I want for Christmas is you" by Mariah Carey  
Summary: _In which Hermione sends Sherlock on a scavenger hunt for his perfect Christmas gift hoping he learns much more about their love._

. . . .

" _I don't want a lot for Christmas.  
There is just one thing I need."  
_\- All I want for Christmas is you,  
Mariah Carey

. . . .

"What on Earth do you have planned for Sherlock's gift this Christmas," Ginny asked Hermione as they sat sipping tea in flat 221B. The two witches often enjoyed late afternoon tea while John and Sherlock were off solving a case. With the holiday looming, this would be their last chance to chat before the festivities began.

"Well," Hermione began nibbling at her lip as she set aside her tea. She frowned, unsure how to broach the topic of Sherlock's gift. She figured she might as well be honest, it wasn't like her friend didn't know the difficulties she and her boyfriend of just under two years had handled. "It took a lot of searching, but there's really only one thing I think both he and I really want, or rather, need."

"What's that?" Ginny was giving her a quizzical look over the rim of her teacup.

"Each other."

. . . .

Sherlock woke early Christmas morning to find the bed empty. He'd rolled over expecting to find Hermione curled on her side like usual, but the sheets were cold. Frowning, he realized she must have been awake for quite some time, if she had even come to bed at all. In fact, Sherlock was fairly certain he'd never felt her slide into the bed the night before. Hurriedly, he threw back the covers and grabbed his blue dressing gown before heading into the front room to investigate.

Perhaps, she had stayed up late working on a case for work and fallen asleep on the sofa. It wouldn't be the first time… They were both prone to late nights and sofa naps, their work often taking president over their needs like food, sleep, or each other. This caused tension between them more often than not, but this was Christmas… Surely, she wasn't upset at him today of all days? Tying the sash of his dressing gown, Sherlock paused in the doorway of the kitchen and frowned.

The living room was empty. Having walked past the bathroom, he knew she was not in there nor could anything be heard from John's old room which now was used as an office and _apparition_ room. Hermione was clearly not in the flat and that made Sherlock's heart stutter and his stomach clench. Moving to sit in his chair, he placed his face in his hands and tried to wrack his brain for a reason she would leave on Christmas.

They hadn't fought the night before, both free of work worries for the holidays. Had he been distant lately? Had she? After months of trying to mend the last big fight they'd had over being unable to fully commit to a relationship of their nature, was this finally the end? Exhaling slowly, Sherlock compartmentalized his emotions so that he could think rationally. There had to be a greater picture he was missing, so with a clear head, he dropped his hands and glanced around the room once more.

Relief flooded him as he spotted the tiny silver box with a red bow sitting on John's old chair. Hermione used it more often than not these days, but he still considered it John's. Tentatively, Sherlock leaned forward to take hold of the tiny box and read the little card attached to the top. It was in the shape of a clock face, and was magically enchanted as such. The little second hand ticked on and Sherlock had to smile at Hermione's skills. She never ceased to amaze him.

The clock matched the current time, 8:03 am he noted, and turning it over, he was able to read the note she left for him…

 _Merry Christmas, Sherlock. I know that we've had a difficult year and that made buying you a gift rather difficult. Instead, I have put together this scavenger hunt. You will have exactly four hours to reach the end of the hunt from the time you open the box. The first clue is contained inside and from then on, you will be on the clock, so to speak. I hope that what you discover during your journey will make the gift at the end worth it._

 _Hermione_

Blinking rapidly, Sherlock felt the thrill of the game start to rush through his veins. He loved a good game with clues, something that Moriarty had used to his advantage once upon a time. This was different, though, wasn't it? Hermione's note didn't seem overly heartfelt, her usual signature excluding the salutation of _love_. Swallowing back that thought, Sherlock eagerly opened the bow and removed the lid, knowing that it started the clock.

Inside the small box was a piece of parchment. Withdrawing it carefully, he unfolded the paper and read the first clue.

 _Tick Tock  
Race the clock  
Find me where we ran into each other  
Where we began_

Snorting, Sherlock couldn't help but to smile as he deciphered her words. Sherlock would always remember the very first place they met, or rather, _ran into each other_. King's Cross Station. It was September first and he'd been watching random people seemingly vanish into thin air between platforms nine and ten. Having grown frustrated with waiting around in the crowd of people, he'd taken a mad dash forward to watch a group of red-haired people with odd trunks and an owl. Only, instead of meeting up with them to ask a question, he'd run right into a bushy-haired woman, knocking her to the ground.

Running the tip of his finger over the magical clock depiction, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken knowing he had to get moving. Jumping up from the chair, he quickly ran back to the bedroom and dressed. He assumed that whatever his gift was, Hermione would be waiting at the end. Dressing in his best suit, he chose to wear a green Oxford shirt for the occasion. Donning his trademark jacket, he slipped the first clue and paper clock into the pocket before leaving the flat.

The game was on.

. . . .

King's Cross was nearly empty this holiday morning, most people having already done their traveling. Sherlock paid no mind to his surroundings, dead set on reaching the space that hid Platform 9 ¾. By the look of things, no trains were departing from either platform nine or ten so he was all alone. Coming to a stop, Sherlock glanced around eagerly in hopes of spotting the next clue. He was not disappointed.

On the lamppost between the two platforms, an identical box to the first was sat. Standing on his tiptoes, Sherlock quickly snatched up the box and looked for the tag. Sure enough, it had his name written in Hermione's familiar handwriting. He lifted open the lid to find his second clue. He was down an hour or so now, so he was eager to get on with the hunt.

 _Spinning in place_

 _The world looks different from here_

 _Find me where I first said yes_

 _Where plans began_

Swapping the clue for the clock, Sherlock realized he had just over three hours remaining. He had no idea how many clues there were, or the real purpose for finding them. Thinking on the clue, Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked around King's Cross. _Find me where I first said yes… Where plans began…_

After his initial introduction to Hermione, he suddenly found himself running into her all over the place. Each time, he would be in the middle of a case or seeking out something he couldn't quite put a finger on. Each time they ran into one another, Hermione seemed more and more flustered, almost as if they weren't supposed to be running into each other at all. Finally, after weeks of this madness, Sherlock had asked her to have coffee or tea, or _something_ of the sort so that he could pick her brain.

Except, she never said yes. In a panic, she would always say no and then run down an alley and disappear, seemingly into thin air. It drove him to madness and caused John to worry more so than usual. Finally, one snowy day, Hermione finally did say yes. Possibly out of defeat, but he suspected she was as intrigued by him as he was of her. That had been at the base of the London Eye.

He recalled it so clearly now, the way she'd tried to flee before he could get to her. Her sleeve was the best he could do, tugging her around so she was forced to look up into his face. _"Don't make me beg, Ms. Granger. Have dinner with me."_ Her answer had been a breathless, _"Yes,"_ as she finally gave into his relentless requests. Remembering the moment with fondness, Sherlock turned on his heel and raced for the car park. He needed to get a cab and quick. He now had less than three hours remaining to find Hermione.

At least now, he had an idea what the remaining clues would entail. It appeared Hermione was taking him on a ride down Memory Lane, as it were. Smirking as he hailed a cab, Sherlock couldn't wait to see what awaited him next. The beginning of their relationship had been full of endless questions and revelations, stolen glances and hesitant kisses. He suspected his next clue would reveal much of the same.

. . . .

Traffic managed to steal more time than he felt he could afford to lose on his way from King's Cross to the London Eye. He was frantic when he arrived, nearly forgetting to pay the cabbie for the ride and for remaining so he wouldn't have to hunt down another after finding the next clue. A misty type of rain was beginning to fall, and Sherlock was suddenly hoping it turned to snow before the day ended.

The London Eye turned slowly, its few passengers enjoying the view this Christmas morning. Sherlock had no occasion to join them, eagerly looking about for a little red package adorned with his name. Approaching the ticket booth, he spotted just that, sitting unobstructed on one of the rails for the lines. Glancing around and wondering why no one else had noticed it, he chalked it up to Hermione and her magical abilities. Waiting not another second, he opened the box and began to read.

 _Bubble and boil  
Tempers and toil  
Find me where we had enough  
Where words bite_

A chill fell upon Sherlock as he remembered exactly when he'd learned of Hermione's secret. It was the answer to this clue, of course, and the reason they'd had a dark period roughly one year after starting to date. Tossing the box into the nearest bin, Sherlock crumpled this note and shoved it into his pocket. He didn't bother looking at the time, needing a moment to himself to process why Hermione would include this in the scavenger hunt.

Who willingly wanted to recall fights and broken hearts at Christmas? What was Hermione thinking? The location of the next clue was the place where he'd followed Hermione one dark night, believing her to be seeing someone else. Why else would she sneak away so often without telling him what she was up to? As it turned out, that wasn't the case.

Instead, in the midst of a heated shouting match, Sherlock was finally made privy to the fact that Hermione was a witch, a real-life, magical being, who had to visit her secret world to work and see her friends. It had been a slap to the face, especially since Sherlock had been so forthcoming with her about his life and past transgressions.

The fight had been a turning point, the two of them going their separate ways. So why did she want him to return to that hateful place? Swallowing back his uneasiness, Sherlock returned to the cabbie and told him the address of the next destination. However, Sherlock had no idea what he was going to find at the Leaky Cauldron. He could only hope it was another clue and not Hermione telling him that they were through, for good this time.

. . . .

The cabbie said he would wait for Sherlock, obviously not overly busy this Christmas. The mist had turned into a full rain by the time Sherlock stepped from the cab in search of the next clue. The street was empty, not a soul to be found. Smirking slightly as he wandered down the sidewalk, Sherlock still found it funny that, as a Muggle, he could not fully focus on the door to the Leaky Cauldron, though he new of its existence.

The ride over had allowed for him to further think about the clue and Hermione's reasoning behind it. He supposed that this was her way of having him come to terms with the different aspects of human nature. The good and the bad. He was still so awful with emotions, even after the many years spent with John teaching him how to open his heart to those around him. Hermione was the first person since Irene that really captivated him mentally, and emotionally.

Walking past the door of the secret wizarding establishment, Sherlock tried to ignore the sense that he needed to be elsewhere. He knew it was magic meant to keep Muggles away, but he obviously needed to be here or Hermione wouldn't have written the clue the way she did. They'd argued before, but this was where they'd had enough and called off their relationship for a while. It hurt, but it was the truth. The sound of a door opening pulled Sherlock from his melancholy thoughts.

"Are you Sherlock?" the man asked from the doorway. When he nodded, the man said, "I'm Tom. I own the place. I was told to be on the lookout for a man in a long coat. This is for you." He held out his hand then, a familiar silver box held aloft.

Sherlock hurried over and eagerly took the clue. "Thank you," he murmured, but when he looked up again, the man was gone. Feeling that odd compulsion to leave again, Sherlock allowed it to guide him back to the cab. Standing outside in the rain, he opened the box and read over where he was meant to be next.

 _Twin of love  
The world sparkles from here  
Find me where we came together  
Where kisses heal_

A smile graced Sherlock's lips as he thought about how clever his little witch was. If this clue had been given to anyone else, surely they would have been lost. But not Sherlock. He knew that the twin of love in reference was the statue of Anteros, the god of selfless and mature love. The clue made its way into his pocket with the others as he opened the door and slid into the backseat of the cab. Relaxing slightly as he realized Hermione wasn't ending their relationship, he met the cabbie's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Piccadilly Circus," he told him, and hastened to add, "Please." Turning away from the mirror, he watched the rain continue to streak down the window.

Oddly enough, Sherlock managed to run into Hermione a few weeks after their breakup. She was working a case that led her to Piccadilly Square. It was then that Sherlock had realized that they'd been working the same case, and also that he'd missed her desperately while they were apart. Against his normal proclivity, he'd told her as such and then promptly kissed her before she could object.

They made love for the first time that night and the very next day, Hermione had moved in with him. _Where kisses heal…_ They most certainly did. Sherlock had never known that kissing someone could be so utterly magical, or maybe that was simply because it was with Hermione. Either way, he prayed that she was waiting for him there, but with well over an hour remaining in the scavenger hunt, he suspected there to be at least one or two remaining clues to be found.

. . . .

As it was Christmas and most everyone had finished their shopping so they could celebrate with their loved ones, Piccadilly Square was nearly empty. The foot traffic was light, people scurrying through the rain to get wherever it was they were headed this Christmas. Sherlock exited the cab, paying this time and bidding the cabbie a Happy Christmas. With determination on his face, Sherlock made directly for the fountain at the center of the area.

The clue was waiting for him, perched on the edge of the fountain. So perhaps one more clue after this then, he thought glancing around and still not finding Hermione anywhere. That was fine, he was enjoying this game. Quickly inspecting the magical clock tag, Sherlock realized he had less than thirty minutes until his time was up. Tucking that away, he unfolded the parchment and began to read...

 _Spruce and light  
Questions and answers  
Find me where the lights run wrong  
Where decisions are made_

This one was tricky, causing Sherlock to frown as he thought about each line. He decided to focus on the descriptive pieces, knowing they would lead him to the final destination. After all, if one was asking questions to get answers so they could make a decision, certainly this had to be the end. He was running out of time! _Spruce and light… Find me where the lights run wrong…_

Spruce had to be a Christmas tree and as for the lights running wrong… It hit him, so hard he immediately turned and began to run through Piccadilly Circus at full speed. At some point, the rain turned to snow, but he hardly noticed. He had to hurry before it was too late. What would happen if he didn't make it by the end of the four hour mark? Would Hermione disappear, or would she wait to hear him out?

Breathing heavily, Sherlock stopped at his destination, all his questions still flying through his head, begging to be answered. Catching his breath, he took a moment to enjoy the snow now falling, blanketing Trafalgar Square and making it look like a winter wonderland. Glancing about, he spotted it. The Christmas tree where the lights ran wrong. Rather than looped around the branches, they were placed vertically as was the custom where the tree hailed from.

Hermione was standing next the to tree, a Norwegian spruce that was gifted to Britain for their commitment to Norway during the second World War. She looked beautiful, in Sherlock's opinion, her hair blowing about in the wind as snow fell softly. He felt his heart skip a beat as she smiled at his approach, and he picked up his pace. Stopping a few feet from where she stood, he smirked triumphantly.

"I have found you." Sherlock knew he was being smug, but then again, he always was after solving a case.

"You have. I knew that you would." She laughed and shook her head. Her expression changed then, the smile falling from her lips and setting Sherlock on edge.

"What is it?" He asked, taking a step toward her. "What's wrong?"

"I need to know, Sherlock," Hermione began hesitantly as she tucked a curl behind her wind-blown hair. Her throat felt tight from holding back her tears, but she swallowed thickly and continued. "I need to know if you're willing to make this work. I can't keep going like this, like passing ships in the night. I love you, but I can't keep coming in second to your work. I moved in with you and made a home office to be with you more, but _still_ you seem so distant."

Sherlock blinked, his glee from moments before disappearing with the wind. "I find myself confused," he said slowly, taking another step toward Hermione, who, thankfully, did not back away. "I was under the impression that I was to find a gift-" He cut off abruptly, realization dawning so clearly he stumbled backward a step.

"You," he breathed, heart pounding behind his ribs. How hadn't he realized it before. She was having him relive the good and bad times of their relationship to show him how through it all, she still cared about him. Quietly, he whispered, "You are the gift."

Hermione smiled softly and nodded. "I am, if you are willing to give yourself to me in return."

Sherlock didn't even have to think twice, swiftly closing the space between them, wrapping one hand around her waist as the other carded through her curls. Staring down into her eyes with nothing but adoration, he said, "My heart is yours, Hermione. Now, and always. Merry Christmas, my love."

As she broke into a true grin, he dipped his head and captured her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck and then he was twirling her around in a circle, not caring that they were right in the middle of Trafalgar Square where anyone could see them. Hermione loved him, he loved her, and they were going to be together this Christmas and many more. This was the best gift he could have ever received.


	12. Impromptu Invitations

**Author's Note:** So this is late, I know… And it also happens to be the last 'official' Holmes for the Holiday fic in the collection. (Although, Light the Way does have a Part II coming…) I hope that you've adored all these Sherlock and Hermione stories. It was a lot of fun writing these for all of my writer and reader friends. I'll be doing something similar next year too! Once the New Year hits, I also plan on finishing Nights in 221B, and possibly starting another Sherlock/Hermione tale. So much to look forward to! Anyway, enjoy this one and I can't wait to see what you have to say about it! Thank you to anyone who took the time to read and leave feedback of any kind!

Thank you to Rachael from W&B for beta reading this for me on such short notice and so quickly! I am eternally grateful to you! You're a doll! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Impromptu Invitations_ _  
_Rated: M  
Written for my Bad Bitches who I couldn't survive this chaotic life without. Each and every one of you holds a special place in my heart and I love you ever so much. Whether it's about writing or real life, you all can always bring a smile to my face and make me feel like everything is going to be alright. You encourage me and lead me back when I go astray. I hope that I do the same for you and that you love this little tale I spun for you! xx  
Prompt: Hermione and Sherlock find themselves in the ER as a result of a minor fender bender(?), on their way to a Christmas Party hosted by the local dignitaries. While there, Hermione discovers that her ex will be in attendance, a man she hasn't seen in well over three(?) years. Desperate to show she's moved on she invites Sherlock as her date in an effort to make it seem as though she's moved on. While at the party, Sherlock discovers a pair of holiday themed undergarments, which he decides to don in order to make the party a tad more interesting.  
Song Recommendation: "Santa Tell Me" by Ariana Grande  
Summary: _In which Hermione finds herself in need of an impromptu date and Sherlock obliges only for them to discover there might be more to their chance encounter than meets the eye._

. . . .

" _Santa, tell me if you're really there.  
Don't make me fall in love again  
If he won't be here next year."_  
\- Santa Tell Me, Ariana Grande

. . . .

"No, honestly. It was just a tap. I'm fine. I didn't even hit the ground that hard."

Unfortunately, the two men in the cab, as well as the cabbie, thought otherwise. Hermione frowned as she was ushered into the back of the cab she had accidentally walked out in front of, and in between the two passengers. One of which just so happened to be a doctor, or so he said. So with a defeated sigh, she allowed the doctor to buckle her in so they could take her to a hospital.

"Look, miss," the doctor began, his hand placed gently on the sleeve of her coat. "You really should get looked at. I know it may not have felt like a hard hit, but we were going rather fast."

Both she and the other passenger rolled their eyes, though she suspected her reasoning was rather different than his. She could have easily healed herself with magic if need be, but she couldn't really reveal that. Damned Muggles. She was going to be late for the insipid holiday party she was being forced to attend. Crossing her arms, she relaxed into the middle seat, knowing she was going to have to just deal for the time being.

They arrived at the hospital and both passengers joined her in the Emergency Room, the doctor explaining the situation to the ER nurse while the other watched her sit on the bed in irritation. She wanted to ask him what his problem was but before she could, the doctor returned to her side and began taking her vitals.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused as he flashed a light in her eyes.

"I've been given permission to check you over myself."

"I don't even know who you are and like I said before, I'm fine." She blinked rapidly to clear the remainder of the light from her eyes as he moved on to check her for other injuries.

"I apologize, miss. I'm Doctor John Watson," he told her as he finally let go of her wrist. Smiling at her, he gestured over his shoulder to where the other passenger stood silent. "And this is Sherlock Holmes."

Hermione looked to the man and quirked an eyebrow. "Okay," she replied, grabbing for her purse. "Now, will you let me go? I'm not going to press charges or anything."

"John," the other man-Sherlock-spoke up finally. "She really does appear to be fine. Have you found any injuries?"

"No, but-"

"Then, I suggest you allow her to be on her way," Sherlock intoned, running a gloved hand through his tousled curls to get them out of his eyes. "We too have elsewhere to be this evening."

John gave Sherlock a annoyed look and then sighed. "Fine. Alright, miss you seem to be in working order." He gave her a crooked grin and then moved away from the hospital bed.

"Thank you-" she started to thank the doctor but her mobile went off in her bag. "Oh! Hold that thought." Quickly, she rummaged through her beaded purse in search of her mobile, trying to make it appear as if it wasn't magically enlarged. Finding the device, she answered the call. "Hello?"

" _Hermione?"_

"Yes, it's me. Harry, what is it?"

" _Where are you? You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago. Is everything alright?"_

"I'm fine," Hermione said, sighing and blatantly ignoring the fact that John and Sherlock were listening to her conversation. Biting her lip nervously, she added, "I'll be there soon. I got a bit…sidetracked."

" _Okay, well I'm glad you're fine, but there's something you should know."_

"What?" Hermione sat up a bit strigheter on the bed, brows furrowed at the serious tone Harry suddenly took on.

" _I don't know why, but...it's Draco. He's here."_

Her eyes closed, the memory of her ex-boyfriend hitting her harder than John and Sherlock's cab. Why? _Why_ did he have to be at the party? He was supposed to be out of the country for at least two more years on some sort of recon work for the Ministry. Why in Merlin's name was he back on New Year's Eve of all nights, and to make things worse, attending the same party she was supposed to be at this very second?

" _Hermione? Hello? Did I lose you?"_

"No, Harry… It's… I'm here."

" _Are you… Are you still going to come because I totally understand if you've changed your mind and want to back out. I can take care of any fallout it causes."_

Exhaling, Hermione knew her presence wasn't truly _required_ at the party, but when the reigning Minister for Magic suddenly didn't show up to the Prime Minister's New Year's celebration, it wouldn't look good. Damn politics and all that it entailed to keep the peace between their worlds. She had to go, old flames be damned.

"I'll be there, Harry. Just tell the Prime Minister I got caught up, is all. And for the love of Merl-" She glanced quickly at Sherlock and John, hoping they didn't catch her odd exclamation. "Just find out why he's back and do everything you can to make sure he and I don't bump into one another."

" _You got it. See you soon."_

The call ended and she tucked the mobile back into her bag before moving to stand from the bed. "I've got to go, but I do want to thank you, Dr. Watson, for taking care of me."

"Is everything okay?" John asked, removing his gloves and tossing them in the bin by the door. He gave Sherlock a side glance before crossing his arms.

"Yes, I'm fine." She cringed knowing how awful that sounded after saying it so many times. "Honestly, I'm just horribly late for this important party tonight and I've just found out someone I'm not too fond of will be in attendance."

"An ex-lover." Sherlock intoned, stepping away from the wall to stare down into her face. "I can tell by the way you keep patting at your hair." His eyes flicked over her curls and she slowly lowered her hand which had been about to pat down the tresses. "You've not seen him in a few years, if I'm correct."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the taller man, trying to discern how he knew this. "How do you-?"

"It's what he does," John explained with an insufferable sigh as he looked to the ceiling. "Come on, Sherlock. She doesn't have time for your deductions."

Intrigued now, Hermione finally gave Sherlock her full attention because _obviously_ he'd been paying enough to her since they crossed paths. Holding up a hand to stop John's talking, she met Sherlock's gaze and smiled slowly. "It's fine Dr. Watson. I'm actually quite curious what else he can _deduce_ about me tonight."

She was already late, what harm could a few more minutes do? Maybe it was the anxiety from having to deal with her ex, but she wanted to see what Sherlock could figure out about her. She hadn't recognized his name at first, but now… Now she recalled his work with Scotland Yard and finding all those criminals over the years. Yes, she was rather fascinated with him and couldn't wait to see if he could figure out who, or rather _what_ , she was.

"You're in your late thirties, although you appear much younger. Whether that is from your genes or the use of anti-aging cosmetics, I'm uncertain. You're dressed in party clothes, but still your gown is far more formal than if you were attending a casual get together with friends. So you're going to a fancy New Year's Eve celebration, possibly even with dignitaries in attendance. However, you're not in a rush to get there, having chosen to walk rather than take a cab or private car. Even now, you linger here at the hospital instead of scurrying off to be with your friend."

"He's good," Hermione pointed when Sherlock finished speaking. She turned and gave John a smile, but he merely shook his head as if exasperated. Turning back to Sherlock, she smirked. "What are you doing tonight?"

"John and I have our own holiday party to get to," Sherlock answered without hesitation. Although, he did pause afterward and tilt his head as if trying to figure out why she would ask. Obviously catching something in her eye, he backed away and pulled his hands from the pockets of his long coat. "Oh no. No. Don't even ask."

"What?" John inquired glancing between the two, not understanding what silent communication had taken place. "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock simply kept shaking his head as Hermione's grin grew wider, a mischievous glint in her pretty brown eyes. "I realize that you have not seen your ex for quite some time and that you don't want to appear as _pining_ or worse, _alone_ , but I am not going to do it, so do not ask."

"Come on, it could be fun."

"Wait." John finally managed to catch onto what was happening. He laughed in a short burst that soon turned into something much more rolling.

"Honestly, John," Sherlock said, crossing his arms and glaring at his best friend. "You find this funny?"

"It's hilarious," he admitted, able to contain his laughter for a moment. "Of all people to be propositioned, it could only be you."

"What's wrong with me?" Sherlock immediately said on the defensive, face falling.

"Nothing," John replied, but couldn't keep the smile from his face. Behind Sherlock, Hermione rolled her eyes, enjoying how this was playing out in her favor. "You're just a bit…uptight, and not at all approachable about going on a date."

"I've dated."

"For a case, Sherlock." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was fake. Have you ever been on a real date? Ever?"

"To be fair," Hermione interjected, stepping forward with a finger raised before Sherlock could reply. "It wouldn't really be a real date either, just so I don't have to show up alone in front of my snot-nosed ex-boyfriend."

Sherlock and John looked at each other for another moment before John shrugged. "That's true, I guess, but you still should do it, Sherlock. Could be fun."

"Fun." He said the word as if it tasted sour, his mouth turned down in a frown. "I don't do fun."

"This party will be far from fun, so if that's what you're worried about…" Trailing off Hermione got a naughty idea. "I mean, you do owe me, after all. It was your cab that hit me and made me so late." She put on an angelic look, blinking up at Sherlock through her lashes.

John watched on in utter amazement as she conned Sherlock into being her date to this fancy-smancy New Year's Eve party. They had no idea who this woman was, let alone why she was obviously so flustered over the mere presence of her ex-boyfriend. "She has a point, Sherlock. We did hit her."

Throwing a dark look toward John before returning his gaze to the woman before him. "What purpose do I serve by attending this party with you?"

"Free dinner and you help me figure out why my ex has decided to come back into the country two years earlier than planned." Smiling knowing she was about to get what she wanted, Hermione quirked an eyebrow as if challenging Sherlock to say no again. "What do you say?"

"What about our plans," he asked John without looking away from the woman. She intrigued him, something about her not quite making sense. From the way she was dressed to the way she held herself screamed dignitary, but under all of that, she appeared to be just a regular person. Yet, there was something more. Something undefinable. Something, dare he say it, _magical_. As much as he loathed the idea of going on an insipid _date_ , he wanted to find out more about this mystery woman.

"Mrs. Hudson will understand."

"Fine." Sherlock gave into the game. Turning to John, he nodded once. "Don't wait up."

"I wouldn't dare," John quipped, stepping out of the way of the door.

"Excellent," Hermione all but cheered, rubbing her palms together and gathering her jacket and bag. Sherlock helped her into the coat and she offered him a radiant smile "Thank you."

"I don't even know your name," Sherlock pointed out, holding up his arm in defeat so that Hermione could loop hers through.

"It's Hermione. Hermione Granger, and I think you and I are going to have a lovely time tonight, Sherlock Holmes." Together, they left the hospital, Sherlock thinking of ways this could go wrong while Hermione imagined the stunned look on Draco's face when she walked in on the arm of the one and only Consulting Detective in all of the world.

. . . .

To say Harry was surprised she'd brought a date was an understatement. Nevertheless, he was friendly and accomodating when Hermione arrived arm-in-arm with Sherlock. She'd spent the cab ride from the hospital to the event prepping him on the details, but she left out one major factor… That she was a witch and in charge of England's Wizarding community. To her defense, she thought as they stood uncomfortably together waiting for one or the other to start talking first, it never really came up…

With Harry taken care of, introducing Sherlock to the Prime Minister was easier than she'd planned, mostly because she already seemed to know who he was. With that taken care of, the two of them began to wander around the party, drinking wine and talking quietly as they grew to know one another a little better. Hermione discovered Sherlock lived with John and his daughter Rosie since the doctor's wife had died, and that together they helped solve crimes for Scotland Yard. Hermione, in turn, told Sherlock the bare minimum about herself and a brief background on Draco, as well. She was hoping there would be no reason to drop the big bomb.

That she was, in fact, a witch...

Suddenly, her eyes locked onto Draco's and he smirked, raising one hand to wave at her from across the ballroom. Swallowing, she returned the gesture and tried to offer him a small smile. He must have taken that as some sort of invitation because he handed off his empty wine glass and started making his way across the room toward where she stood with Sherlock. Panic stricken, Hermione turned away from his approaching form to grab hold of Sherlock's arm. He gave her an odd look, but quickly masked it when he saw Draco coming to join them. It was clear he understood who this person was and that they were about to put on a show for the man.

"I'm a witch," she whispered hurriedly behind her hand as Draco sauntered over toward the couple with a determined look on his pointed face. "And when I ran and was elected Minister for Magic, my boyfriend at the time became jealous and sort of broke things off. That's Draco. Sorry, I left that part out earlier." Glancing up at Sherlock to find him staring at her in disbelief, she shrugged one shoulder knowing she'd just thrown him for a loop. "Just go with it, okay? Draco is going to assume you know all about my world, so play along. I'll explain more later."

Before Sherlock could even think of a reply, Draco was before them, crossing his arms and giving them the most pretentious look possible. "Granger, I see you're doing well."

"Good evening, Draco," Hermione replied with as best a smile as possible. Placing her hand on Sherlock's arm, she added, "I wasn't aware you were returning to England so soon, let alone invited to this party."

"Yes, well, I imagine the work we do down in the Department of Mysteries remains unknown to even the _Minister_ in some cases."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock started to break in, wanting to ask about the strange department Hermione's ex was referring to, but she cut him off before he could speak any further.

"Oh, I apologize. How rude of me." She patted Sherlock's arm and gave Draco a dazzling smile. "This is Sherlock Holmes. My boyfriend."

Instead of offering his hand in greeting, Draco looked Sherlock up and down in a bored manner. "I hadn't heard you were seeing someone, let alone a Muggle."

"It's fairly new," Hermione replied sweetly, giving Sherlock what she hoped was an adoring look. Subtly closing the space between their bodies, she leaned into his stiff form. "Isn't it, darling?"

Smirking, but knowing well enough to play along, Sherlock placed a hand on the small of her back to draw her closer. "New? Perhaps, but we both know this romance has been a long time coming."

"How so?" Draco asked, obviously not so keen on their supposed romance.

"Oh, well that's easy enough to figure out," Sherlock replied, sliding his hand just a smidgen lower on Hermione's back. The corner of his lip quirked a little higher when he felt her shiver at the touch. "The attraction between Hermione and I was immediate. It's almost as if fate brought us together, making sure that we _hit_ it off at just the right moment."

Hermione couldn't contain the small giggle that bubbled out of her at that comment, or the warm feeling that was spreading through her from where Sherlock had his hand placed precariously low on her back. Any lower, and his large hand could cup her behind, easily. Leaning further into his embrace, she started to wonder if that would really be a bad thing. Sherlock was a lot more interesting and entertaining than she'd originally anticipated. Deciding she might as well play into this and see just how far he'd be willing to go, Hermione threw away all inhibitions.

"One would say you knocked me right off my feet, wouldn't they?" she asked, sliding up onto her tiptoes and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. She saw the way Sherlock's eyes widened fractionally, realizing what she was about to do. Instead of waiting for her to make the move, he took the reigns and gave Draco the show of his life.

Sherlock's lips found hers and, for a second, she was thrown off guard all over again. The moment his lips met hers, she felt a spark like never before rock through her entire being. Immediately, she melted into his embrace, her mouth opening as Sherlock's tongue slid out to meet hers. Idly, in the back of her mind, Hermione knew as the Minister for Magic, she really shouldn't be making out so publicly, but right now she didn't care. Forgetting all about her ex-boyfriend and propriety, for that matter, Hermione kissed Sherlock Holmes for all she was worth. When they separated, breathlessly, they discovered Draco had snuck away.

"That was-"

"I'm sorry if-"

They both laughed at their antics, identical grins and blushes on their faces as they stared at one another. Hermione still had her arms around Sherlock's neck and he was still holding her flush against his much taller frame. Clearing her throat, Hermione averted her gaze briefly to try and get her heart to stop beating so erratically. It didn't much help, so she sighed and looked back up into Sherlock's face.

"Thank you, for the kiss."

"I was afraid I'd read too much into the moment," he admitted sheepishly.

"No, that was exactly what I planned on doing." She laughed a little, and then unwound her arms from his neck so she could take a step backward. She felt oddly cold now, and as Sherlock frowned and slid his hands into the pocket of his suit pants, she wondered if he felt the same.

"Would you like to get something to drink?" Sherlock asked, lifting his arm and smiling down at her as he waited for an answer.

"I would, actually," she replied, placing her hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her over to the refreshments. This was turning out to be quite an interesting evening, she thought as they made their way across the room. Looking around, she discovered she could no longer find Draco, but she did notice a few people glancing their way with amused grins on their faces. Clearly, Draco hadn't been the only audience to their surprisingly passionate kiss.

Later, as she was standing next to the punch bowl with her arms crossed, Hermione watched Sherlock schmoozing with the Prime Minister. Touching her lips with the fingertips of her right hand, she recalled how it felt to kiss him and how she wouldn't mind doing it again. And again. Damn it. This was just supposed to be a one off… A fake date to make Draco realize she wasn't still hung up on his stupid pompous arse. Was she insane to wish Sherlock was actually her boyfriend?

As she continued to contemplate the insanity of this evening, Harry sidled up to her, sipping a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He glanced at her face and then followed her gaze toward Sherlock before chuckling. "Having fun?"

"What do you think?" Hermione groused, giving her best friend a stern look that clearly indicated she was in no mood to play. He obviously missed that.

" _Sherlock_ seems to be having a good time," Harry pointed out before taking a sip of his drink. Swirling the cup so that the ice clinked, he added, "That kiss looked pretty convincing. Even I thought the two of you have been together for ages."

"Really?" Hermione pulled her attention away from the consulting detective. "I was afraid it might look a bit forced."

"No way," Harry said with a laugh. "Even the Prime Minister pointed out how much in love the two of you seemed to be, going so far as to ask when the wedding was going to take place. I guess she's looking for an invite."

"Oh, Good Godric," she replied, running a hand through her curls. This was really getting to be too much.

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly." They stood together in silence for a few minutes, Hermione's gaze returning to Sherlock's. She blushed when he caught her staring and gave her a secretive smile. Harry, also catching the look, sniggered behind his cup.

"Stop it," she hissed out the corner of her mouth. "It's not funny."

"It's a bit funny," he retorted, finishing his drink and then staring down at the lonely ice. "If it makes you feel any better, Draco was more than flustered over the entire thing. He left not long after the kiss happened."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised to hear this. "Did he say anything?"

"Not really, just that he couldn't stand to see you lowering your standards for some ridiculous Muggle." Harry paused, laughing and shaking his head. "You really did a number on him tonight."

"I just didn't want him to see me alone and assume I was still pining after him, is all." Hermione pursed her lips, suddenly irritated at the entire situation. Harry held up his hand.

"I know, and I'm not saying anything against it." Sighing, Harry ran the same hand through his hair. "I'm glad you're not with Draco, anyway. He wasn't good for you, even if he is a friend."

"Really? You never said anything before." Hermione gave her friend a playful slap on the arm.

"Not really my place, Hermione." Shrugging, he turned his gaze back to Sherlock, watching as he shook the Prime Minister's hand and then began his way back toward Hermione. "However, I will say this… Even though you brought him here just so you wouldn't have to be alone, Sherlock seems like a pretty decent guy. I think there might be something there you should definitely look into further." Patting his best friend on shoulder, Harry made to take his leave before Sherlock got there. "He likes you too. That kiss was a sure sign of it, and I wouldn't be surprised if the two of you showed up here next year as a _real_ couple instead."

Unable to do anything besides gape at her friend's retreating back, Hermione barely registered when Sherlock slipped a hand around her waist and tugged her gently so she was now flush against him. Blinking rapidly to try and get her brain back on track, she tipped her head to stare into Sherlock's beautiful eyes. They were twinkling, with mischief most likely, and there was a smile gracing his thin lips. He gave her a little smirk and then dipped his head low so he could speak quietly into her ear.

"I think I managed to talk the Prime Minister into allowing us to sneak out of this stuffy party early," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear and making her shiver. She suspected he was doing this to keep up the illusion of their relationship, but a part of her sort of wished it were real. "How does that sound to you?"

Gripping the sleeves of his suit jacket tightly between her fingers, she continued to wordlessly stare up at him as she contemplated Harry's words. Was Harry right? Was there more to Sherlock than meets to eye? And would he even be open to getting to know her further considering she'd lied about who she really was? Deciding she wouldn't know if she never tried, and that being held in his arms felt fan-freaking-tastic, Hermione nodded. "I think I'd like that."

Sherlock's smirk widened into something of a real smile. "And I may be pushing my luck as I am entirely new to this sort of thing, but would you perhaps like to come back to my flat to ring in the New Year?"

"Oh…" Hermione felt her breath leave her in a rush of surprise, Harry's words ringing true in her head as she lost herself in his eyes. Quickly, she weighed the pros and cons, not wanting to find herself brokenhearted this time next year. But as she saw the flicker of uncertainty in Sherlock's eyes, she decided it might be worth the risk. "Sure, let's go."

Watching his face light up, she allowed him to take her hand and lead them through to the coat room. After they'd acquired their jackets, the two of them hurried from the building and Sherlock hailed a cab. In the backseat, Hermione tried not to appear as nervous as she was. Typically, she was not the type of witch to partake in one night stands, but something told her this was more than that. And as Sherlock tentatively reached across the backseat and intertwined their fingers, she had to admit that it was a definite possibility.

. . . .

Sipping her glass of champagne, Hermione had to admit that 221B Baker Street certainly had its charm. As she stared out the front window of the flat, she thought back on earlier in the evening and wondered just how she'd managed to get to this point. Midnight had come and gone, John having gone upstairs to bed shortly after the clock struck twelve. Now, it was just her and Sherlock again, alone save for the skull on the mantle Hermione couldn't help but find charming.

Hearing Sherlock come up behind her, she turned around and placed a hand on his chest. He'd removed his suit jacket, the purple of his Oxford shirt rich and royal in the light filtering in from the streetlights below. Taking another sip of her bubbly beverage, she smiled warmly up at him. He looked nervous, his eyes roving over her face as if searching for a reason to hold back. She hoped that he found nothing that would push him away because if she were honest with herself, she wanted nothing more than dive in headfirst.

"You're really a witch," he said without question, one hand coming up so he could card fingers through hair curls.

Smiling, she'd wondered when this would come up again. Setting aside her mostly empty glass, she replaced it with her wand which had been hidden in a secret pocket of her gown. Holding it so he could see, she whispered, "I am. Would you like me to prove it? I'm not supposed to use magic in front of Muggles, but as Minister for Magic, I find some of the rules don't always apply to me."

"A Muggle is someone like me, I take it. Without magic."

Sherlock was clever, so she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd figured out the term so easily. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but be a little shocked how calm he was through her explanation. "It is, but it's not a bad thing. Both my parents are Muggles."

"That is fascinating…" He trailed off, his hand pausing in its mintrations to tip her head backward. He brought his face down so their lips were mere breaths apart. "What can you do with that magic wand?" he asked, voice low, so much so that it made her shiver in anticipation.

"This," she breathed out, trailing the tip down the front of his shirt. Her breathing hitched as each button on his shirt magically popped open, revealing his pale, muscular chest to her. When every last button was undone, she used her free hand to slide it from his shoulders so that it pooled on the floor at their feet. Pointing her wand at herself now, she enjoyed the way his eyes were alight with something akin to that of a child on Christmas morning. "I can also make my dress disappear entirely."

"No!" When she quirked an eyebrow at his sudden exclamation, he cleared his throat and clarified. "I want divest you of that gown. You can show me more of you magic later."

Blushing, Hermione nodded and then slipped the wand back into her pocket and rushed to close the space between them. Throwing herself into his arms, her lips eagerly sought out his. Sherlock kissed her with fervour, arms wrapping around her body. Kicking off her heels, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped into his arms. He caught her easily and began to carry her through to the bedroom.

Occasionally, he would stop to press her against the wall, pressing himself into her so that she knew just how much he wanted this. Merlin, how she wanted this too… Who would have thought? By the time he placed her back on her feet beside his bed, Hermione's body was thrumming with so much pent up desire, she thought she might burst into flame. True to her word, Hermione allowed Sherlock to remove her black gown.

He turned her around, one hand on her bare shoulder as the other unzipped the dress tantalizingly slow. As each new inch of bare skin was revealed, he placed a searing kiss along her spine. Her eyes closed to further enjoy the sensations he was evoking in her body, and as the silk fabric finally slithered down her body, she swayed on her feet. Sherlock pressed himself to her back, revealing that he too wore nothing but undergarments. She found solace in his sturdy embrace, his hands flat against her stomach as he pressed open mouth kisses to her naked shoulder.

Turning back around, she pressed both her hands to his chest and gently pushed him so that he fell back onto the bed. As he moved to the middle of the bed, she crawled atop his body and straddled his hips, eager to see him laid out before her. He truly was a beautiful specimen of a man, all long limbs and tight muscle from his many years of fighting crime. Unable to help herself, she trailed her fingers down his chest until they traced the band of his boxers. She met his burning gaze and couldn't help but to smile.

"What are these?" she inquired, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Sherlock was wearing green boxers with little red and white candy canes all over them.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his head falling backward in apparent embarrassment. "John bought them for me as a joke this Christmas." He sighed in exasperation, afraid that their moment was ruined. That couldn't be further from the truth he soon realized as Hermione hooked her fingers in the elastic band and began slowly sliding them lower.

"You'll have to thank John later," Hermione quipped, her eyes playful as Sherlock's head snapped back up so he could see what she was doing. Lifting herself so she could remove the undergarments entirely from his body, she resettled herself at his hips and rocked slightly. This earned her a moan of appreciation. "I just so happen to adore candy canes."

Taking hold of Hermione's hips, Sherlock felt his cock grow ever harder as she continued to rock gently above him. "I'll make sure to do that." It was hard to think clearly with such a beautiful woman- _witch_ -before him.

Smiling down at Sherlock, Hermione knew she couldn't wait any longer for him to be inside of her, but she needed to know something first. Stilling her movements, she leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. A bit breathless, she said, "Before we go any further, there's just something I need to know."

"What's that?" Sherlock inquired, stomach clenching with sudden worry. He hated feeling that way, preferring to appear sure of himself at all times, but this was different. Hermione was different, and he didn't want to screw this one up like he'd done with Irene in the past.

"I feel like there's something between us, Sherlock, something that I'm scared to admit might be bigger than either of us imagined when you agreed to be my date earlier this evening." Waiting for some sort of sign, she was thankful when he nodded for her to continue. "I don't want to mess that up by sleeping together right away and then just going our separate ways come the morning. So if you think that this could lead to something more between us, something substantial, then I'm yours. I'll open my heart to you and spend the night in your arms, if not… Tell me now so we can both be spared the heartache."

Taking Hermione by surprise, Sherlock quickly moved into a sitting position, both of his large hands cupping her face softly. "I realize that you and I know next to nothing about one another, but you should know that I am a man of my word, Hermione." He stopped here, sea-colored eyes boring into her chocolate colored ones with such intensity. "You have no reason to believe a word I say as most men in my position," he said swiftly, gesturing at his obvious arousal, "would say anything to get into your knickers, but I would like you to know that I can see myself falling for you in such a way that even I, myself, would be surprised."

Laughing lightly and shaking her head, Hermione decided that was answer enough. Clearly, Sherlock felt it too, whatever this intense feeling was between the two of them. It started back in the Emergency Room and had only intensified as the night grew later. Now, they were intertwined in each other's arms, ready to let go and open their hearts entirely. Kissing him soundly, Hermione let her actions speak for her now. Sherlock rolled them so she was now underneath his larger body, their kissing and touching almost frantic as they hurried to join their bodies.

So after divesting Hermione of her bra and knickers, Sherlock kissed her tenderly once more before sliding into her core. They both moaned at the feeling of completeness, their bodies fitting together ever so perfectly. They moved as one, making love in perfect harmony. If someone had told Hermione that this was how she was going to ring in the New Year, she would have laughed and asked if they'd started drinking early.

But here she was, staring into the eyes of the one and only Sherlock Holmes as he filled her body and soul, giving her life and love. Her heart swelled with affection and she felt her eyes tear up as he brought her to that glorious edge. Crying out his name, she fell apart in his arms. Sherlock followed behind shortly thereafter, his hips meeting hers at a frenzied pace. When it was all said and done, he wrapped her in his arms and allowed her to rest her head on his chest.

"Sherlock?" she asked quietly, almost certain he'd fallen asleep.

"Hmmm?" His reply came with a gentle sweep of his hand up and down her bare back. She shivered, but not from the chill of the room and snuggled closer to his warm body.

"This evening has been more than I could have asked for. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year…"

She planted a kiss on his chest and then allowed her eyes to close. As sleep took her, Hermione felt content knowing that this time next year, the possibility she and Sherlock would find themselves in exactly the same position was extremely high. And if that was the case, then this would be a wonderful New Year indeed.


	13. Underneath the Christmas Lights Part II

**Author's Note:** As promised, here is the second part of Light the Way. Actually, I think I have talked myself into turning this into something larger. I'm sighing up for Hermione's Haven #HGBigBang2018 where I plan on writing an expanded version of this story. It's going to take months, but when I do post the new version, I will rename this "Underneath the Christmas Lights" so that I can keep this title for the full tale. I hope you enjoy this, but if you do feel like it's missing something, that's because I held back a bit.

This was not beta or alpha read so any mistakes you find are definitely my own! Much love, xxDustNight

 **Disclaimer:** All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

 **Holmes for the Holidays Playlist:** htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

 _Light the Way, Part II_ _  
_Rated: M  
Song Recommendation: "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui  
Summary: _In which Hermione remains at 221B longer than she hoped and she and Sherlock find themselves drawn to one another in more ways than either thought possible._

. . . .

" _I'll keep you warm,  
Underneath the Christmas lights."  
_\- "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui

. . . .

Christmas came and went, and with it, Hermione's hopes of being saved by Harry. In fact, she had only heard from him once more since that first message. He was brief, telling her that matters had yet to be resolved at the Ministry and that she was safest laying low. With the New Year quickly approaching, Hermione was starting to think that things may be more dire than originally assumed. At least, now, she didn't feel as much a burden as before.

Ever since the night Sherlock helped her get out of the bath and then offered her his bed, he'd been much more accommodating to her presence in 221B. With John busy with work, Mary, and Rosie, he hardly had the time to keep popping in multiple times a day to check on her recovery. Sherlock, on the other hand, was there more often than not, and suddenly eager to make sure she was on the mend. It got to the point where Mrs. Hudson mentioned that he had his own cases to solve.

Hermione saw him a bit less after that, but not substantially so. Not that she minded either way, but when Mrs. Hudson couldn't come upstairs for one reason or another and Sherlock was out on a case, she found herself wanting for company. Her ribs were healing quickly now that she was able to rest for over a week without pushing herself. This made moving about the flat a lot easier too. As she perused the bookshelves against the back wall, Hermione thought about what it might be like to get some fresh air.

Biting her lip, she dropped her hand from the spines of the books to glance out the window. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to the people walking the pavement and the cars driving by. What she wouldn't do to be out there with them… Laughing at her silliness, she turned away from both the window and the books and gasped. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, somehow having come in without alerting her to his presence.

"You should be resting," he said by way of greeting, eyes roving over her form as if searching for a decline in her progress of healing.

"You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that," Hermione pointed out, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the pull in her chest from her broken ribs.

"Why are you not resting?" He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. Walking to the mantle, he picked up the mail and began to rifle through it.

"I was bored of lying around in bed." She shrugged as he briefly glanced her way. "Besides, I've read all the books in your bedroom and needed new material."

Setting the mail back on the mantle, Sherlock picked up the knife and stabbed it through the envelopes. "I had at least twenty books in that room. You have read them all?" Sherlock was standing in front of her now, staring down into her brown eyes as if searching for something.

"I did. I'm a fast reader, and learner. Actually, as much as I hate it, I'm known as the brightest wi- _woman_ of my age." She chuckled, absolutely hating that endearment, and also at the fact she'd almost slipped up and revealed she was a witch. That would certainly make things more difficult, wouldn't it? Luckily, Sherlock either didn't notice or he chose to ignore her mistake.

"Hmm." His eyes flickered over her and then he stepped around her, heading toward the door. Donning his coat and scarf, he said, "Rest. Take the medicine John left for you. I'll be back this evening." And then he was gone, sweeping from the room and hurrying down the stairs.

Confused, Hermione went to the window and watched as Sherlock exited the building. He looked both ways before hailing a cab which quickly stopped and allowed him to slide inside. As the cab drove away, Hermione was left feeling alone and utterly lost. Why was he always doing this? All this time and still she felt like she knew little to nothing about the consulting detective. Granted, she wasn't being entirely truthful with him either, but still she managed to reveal snippets of herself to him.

Yawning despite the earliness of the day, Hermione decided to heed his words and made her way to the back bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she looked around the room. It was still lit by the Christmas lights Mrs. Hudson had decorated with, but it appeared much more organized than that first time she'd glanced inside. Had Sherlock tidied up the room without her realizing? Why would he do that? It's not like she minded the clutter of discarded books, teacups, and clothing all that much.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione took the medicine prescribed to her by Dr. Watson and then curled up on the bed, pulling the cover overtop her body. She needed to get out of here and back to the Ministry and her world. The longer she remained, the more of a risk she became. She didn't need Sherlock or John figuring out she was a witch. As sleep took her, Hermione wondered what was happening in her world that required her to stay away.

. . . .

"Mrs. Hudson? Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione was sitting in what was known as John's chair while the landlady dusted the small flat. It was a chilly day so Hermione was settled by the fireplace to keep warm. Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to her with a smile. Perching in the edge of Sherlock's chair she gave Hermione her attention.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied, settling back in the chair.

"Okay, it's just… It's about Sherlock." Hermione paused uncertain if it was okay to talk to Mrs. Hudson about such things. After all, she was his landlady not his mother or his keeper. That was probably more John and Mary's job than anything, but they seemed awfully busy lately with the holiday.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson said quietly, glancing at her hands in her lap before lifting her gaze back to Hermione. "What is it that you care to know about him?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Sherlock has anyone he cares for." She blushed, looking away and feeling entirely silly about even asking at all. Swallowing thickly, she made to push up from the chair but Mrs. Hudson reached out and patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a thing. It's not my business. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been gone long ago."

"You're fine. Honestly." Mrs. Hudson began, laughing lightly. "You are not the first one to wonder such a thing. But no, Sherlock is married to his work, or so he says anyways."

This was news to Hermione for she hadn't really seen Sherlock working too much in her time spent in 221 B. Granted, he did spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing only Merlin new what on his laptop. Occasionally, she did find that he ventured into the kitchen to fiddle around with his microscope, but he never really lingered for long.

"I really am sorry. I guess I just still feel like such a burden on all of you all the time." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and tried to give Mrs. Hudson a smile but she felt like it was off, so she stopped. "Do you think that Sherlock really doesn't mind me being here, or that he's just putting on a show for my benefit since I told John how he treated me that first day?"

Mrs. Hudson stood up and resumed her dusting, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk. "In my experience with Sherlock, he doesn't do things unless he wants to. He's very stubborn that way, sort of like my ex-husband." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mrs. Hudson paused again and threw Hermione a glanced over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hermione, I think that your presence here has been quite beneficial to Sherlock."

"Really?" Hermione questioned, seriously struggling to see how she could have benefited Sherlock in anyway when he made it so that they were never in the same room together for longer than a few moments time.

"You might not see it now, but I think that before you take your leave of us, you'll find that Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart under all that…" Here Mrs. Hudson made snooty face which caused Hermione to laugh.

Her giggling made her chest ache so she cut it off fairly quickly, but she appreciated Mrs. Hudson's sense of humor all the same. "Thank you for answering my question."

"You're welcome, dear," she replied, passing by her and laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all want to see you well again. It has been lovely getting to know you, I think that perhaps you should take this evening and try and get Sherlock to open up about himself, as well."

"How can I do that" Hermione questioned,staring up into Mrs. Hudson's kind face. "He hardly ever wants to talk to me about anything other than if I'm healing the way I should."

"You're clever," Mrs. Hudson noted. "I think that, between you and me, you'll be able to come up with something." Tapping the side of her nose, Mrs. Hudson gave her a wink and then disappeared back downstairs to her own flat, leaving Hermione alone to contemplate what exactly the landlady meant.

. . . .

Hermione spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out a way she could get the elusive Sherlock to speak to her for longer than a few minutes. By midafternoon, she decided it was useless and retreated to the bedroom for a nap. When she awoke, there was still no news from Harry but Sherlock had returned. He was standing in the front room, shuffling through papers and muttering under his breath. A case, Hermione realized. He was working on a case.

Not wanting to disturb him while he worked, she wandered into the kitchen and found the drawer where she knew John stored the take-out menus. This was how she would get him to open up to her. She'd order dinner for the two of them and then when he was finished working, they could sit down and eat together. Surely, he wouldn't have anything to say against that?

Selecting the Chinese restaurant from down the street, Hermione snuck back into the bedroom and made the call. She was surprised to find that the worker recognized John's phone number and added the total to their ongoing tab. She thanked him and then went back into the living room to wait for their dinner to arrive. In the meantime, she enjoyed watching Sherlock work; he was so focused she didn't even think he registered her presence.

Hermione was so enraptured by his process that she never even heard the knock on the door. Sherlock must have, though, his head popping up and a deep frown forming on his lips as he glanced toward the stairs. When the knock didn't sound again, he returned to his work. Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to go down stairs as of yet, but still she pushed to her feet and started toward the door.

Mrs. Hudson came through the door before she could exit, rapping her knuckles on it as she went. "Hoo hoo!" she called, earning a disgruntled sigh from Sherlock. He didn't further acknowledge her presence. "Sherlock, the carrier is here with your dinner."

"I didn't order food," he replied curtly, waving her away in favor of flipping angrily through the pages of a book.

"No," Hermione spoke up from by the door. "That was me."

"You?" Sherlock slammed the book shut and rounded on her. "Why would you do that?"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said with a bit of a warning to her voice. "The poor girl was probably hungry and you could use a break. You've been on this case for over a week now."

"I don't eat when I'm working." Sherlock crossed his arm as if he were a petulant teenager.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, having to avoid Mrs. Hudson's gaze lest she fall entirely into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I should have asked first. I just ordered off the take-out menu what items were starred."

"You see," Mrs. Hudson declared, walking forward and swatting him lightly on the arm. He gave her a stern glance, but she ignored it. "She even made sure to order your favorites. Now go downstairs and tip the delivery man."

Narrowing his eyes at the landlady, Sherlock huffed and then disappeared downstairs. His footsteps were loud on the stairs, obviously meant to convey his annoyance. Mrs. Hudson merely laughed and followed behind. As she left, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed, 'Thank you.' Honestly, if it wasn't for that woman, Hermione would be lost as to how to deal with Sherlock's slight temper. She had much to learn.

When Sherlock returned, he set the bag of food on the coffee table and allowed Hermione to sort it. They didn't speak as containers and chopsticks were divided out. In fact, Hermione was certain they wouldn't talk at all unless she did something. So, wandering over to where Sherlock and resumed working, she pushed away her nervousness and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Hermione said hesitantly, digging in her carton with her chopsticks. "What sort of case are you working on?" She was nervous to talk with Sherlock, but determined to learn who he really was.

Chewing thoughtfully, Sherlock turned slowly to regard Hermione. Clearly, she was not going to go away. Gesturing toward the wall behind the desk where he'd hung a plethora of photos and a map, he figured he might as well test her skill. "Have a look. What do you see."

Setting down her take-out box, Hermione peered at what Sherlock had displayed. There were scribbled notes on the photographs, as well as red yarn pinned to connect certain parts of the map. It was odd to see someone else display their work, especially since this is exactly what she did on a daily basis working at the MLE. One spot in particular drew her attention so she pointed to it. "You're not just working any case… You're trying to solve _mine_."

Sure enough, there was a star next to the spot on the map where she'd been attacked over a week ago. When she met Sherlock's gaze, he merely nodded, also setting aside his half-eaten dinner. "I found it odd when you had no one to come and retrieve you."

"You did want me to leave." Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It matters not." As if that simple sentence settled the matter. Nodding back at his display, he asked, "What do you think? Have you any ideas what might be going on?"

"You want my help?" He nodded and she frowned. "Why?"

"Because there is something about you that I can't see, that I am missing." He ran a hand through his curls and stepped awfully close to her. "I can _see_ everything else, the fact that you're alone by choice, that you work in a similar area as I do, that you sleep with one arm outstretched as if searching for someone to hold… But I can't see what's hiding under the surface. I need you to show me."

Mouth popping open, Hermione wanted to be angry that Sherlock had somehow figured out these things, or that he possibly watched her as she slept. However, she only felt more intrigued. If he was a mystery to her, she was even more of a mystery to _him_. She couldn't tell him about being a witch, not yet at least, but she could help him try and solve the pattern of this case.

"Okay," she said with determination. Placing both hands on her hips, she nodded. "Let's have a look at this thing." Sherlock smirked at her gumption, clearly glad to see her feeling better. She tried not to blush as his gaze examined her; instead, focusing on the map in front of them.

They spent the rest of the night bonding over the case until she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then, did Sherlock force her to rest, one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders as he guided her down the dimly lit hallway. As he tucked her into the bed, Hermione enjoyed the way his large hand lingered on her shoulder and the way his deep voice bid her goodnight. And it wasn't until sleep was nearly claiming her, that it occurred to her that the places on the map coincided with locations of Magical homes or structures.

. . . .

When she woke up the next day, Hermione immediately sent a text to Harry asking about whether or not her suspicions were correct. Sherlock was absent from the flat, as was Mrs. Hudson. This left Hermione to examine the evidence on her own, using the solitude to her advantage. It was true she didn't have her wand; however, she had always been partial to nonverbal spells anyway. Glancing back and forth just to ensure she was truly alone, she reached out with her magic and tried to figure out a connection.

That was how John found her later that afternoon. "Hey, Hermione," he called, jerking her back to reality. When she stumbled, he quickly dropped his coat and made to grab her before she could hit the floor. "Whoa!"

Once he'd helped her to sit in Sherlock's chair, Hermione took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said breathily, chest heaving. It hurt and it was then that she realized she'd overexerted herself with the wandless magic.

"What happened? What were you doing," John asked, kneeling beside her and going to take her pulse. He frowned at whatever he calculated and then stood to go rummage through his doctor bag.

"I guess I just stood for too long. I'm trying to help Sherlock with his case." She accepted the medicine tablet he handed her, popping them in her mouth and then taking the glass of water he handed her. He hoped he didn't pester her further about it; she didn't want to lie about having used magic.

"Did he ask you to or something because if he did, I'm going to kill him. You're not supposed to be over exerting yourself." John sighed, truly concerned for her and she suddenly felt bad.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologized, relaxing into the worn leather chair. "I'll take it easy. I swear."

"Good." John moved to sit in his chair, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "Why are you helping Sherlock with his case, anyway?"

"Because it's mine," she replied simply, taking another sip of water. Already, she could feel a little bit of her strength returning. At John's startled look, she shrugged one shoulder. "And because I think it's related to the case my team is working on too."

"You're in law enforcement?" John looked surprised, to say the least. He ran a hand through his hair and reminded her of Harry for a moment.

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sort of. Private sector. Very much a need to know basis." That was the best she could say by way of explanation without revealing her true self.

"Were you sent here by Mycroft?" he asked, suddenly causing her to frown.

"Who?" She had no idea who that might be, racking her brain for any mention of the name.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "Nevermind," and then made to stand. "Look, I came by to check on you, but you're not going to get any better if you don't take it easy, okay?"

"I'm going to relax the rest of the evening. I swear it." She smiled, crossing her heart with a gesture and earning her a laugh from the good doctor.

"That's what I like to hear. If you feel worse or anything at all, use the mobile I gave you to call Mary, or even bloody Sherlock. They can get in touch with me." He patted her on the shoulder and then bent to pick up his coat from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "I'll see you tomorrow for the New Year's party."

"Okay! Give Mary and Rosie my best." Hermione smiled, grateful that she was lucky enough to have been rescued by such a kind hearted man. John was great, and she felt bad for pushing herself. Clearing her throat, she managed to get his attention before he disappeared out the door. "And thank you, John. I appreciate all of this, really I do."

John's face softened and he cleared his throat, though she suspected for a different reason. "You're welcome, Hermione. Goodnight."

"Night."

. . . .

Getting into the bath was easier now and so Hermione didn't bother disrupting Sherlock from his playing. He'd picked up his violin sometime after dinner and hadn't stopped playing since. The tune was unfamiliar to her, leaving her to assume he'd composed it himself. Mary said he did that often, composing music during emotionally temperamental parts of his life. She wondered what he was focussing on now as she relaxed in bathtub listening to the music flow in from the half-opened door.

Having taken care of her hair and body, she relished the warmth of the bath and closed her eyes as the beautiful music calmed her frazzled nerves. As she lay there, she thought not of the case, but of Sherlock and his persistence toward solving it. Was he doing it just because it was another case or was there something more there? Sighing, she hated that she hoped it was the latter. While Sherlock was still very much a mystery to her, she couldn't help but be compelled toward him.

It was maddening in a sense, being so enthralled in someone only to have them care less than nothing about you in return. At least, that's the way it appeared. Maybe solving the mystery of her attacker and the other similar instances would bring them closer together. The only issue was that she was still unable to comfortably walk the stairs (she'd tried) and Harry wanted her to remain here. That was the other thing…

Harry had confirmed her suspicions, her attack being one of many that occured over the course of three days in London. Someone had it out for Muggleborns, an issue that caused the Wizarding community to go on high alert. Hermione knew in her heart that she was incapable of helping her team of MLE agents and Aurors solve anything in this state, which was the only reason she remained in 221B with Sherlock. If she couldn't be out there in the fray, then she was going to keep aiding Sherlock in his deductions at the very least. Only, she had to do it without magic seeing as that drained her completely.

As Sherlock continued to play and Hermione's bathwater grew cold, she decided it was time to get out. Biting her lip, she really didn't want to call for him and interrupt his playing since she knew he was most likely thinking about the case. With a sigh, she let the water out of the tub and then waited for it to drain fully before attempting to stand. Surely, she was well enough by now to complete such a simple task as pushing herself upright in the tub? She did it all the time on chairs and the bed.

Holding her breath, Hermione gripped the edges of the tub and heaved herself upright. All appeared well; she didn't even feel too much of an ache in her chest. Carefully, she finished pulling herself into a standing position and then exhaled harshly. Breathing again, she smiled, thankful she'd successfully got herself up in the tub. In her excitement, Hermione made to step out of the tub; only, she didn't quite account for the fact that she probably used most of her energy.

Exhausted, her feet slipped on the still damp tub and she went flailing. Closing her eyes, she knew that if she hit the side with her ribs, she'd be in dire trouble, so in a last ditch effort, she wrenched her body around mid-fall. The side of the tub hit her back so hard the breath was immediately knocked from her body. She grunted from the impact, her body folding in on itself as she toppled over the ledge and landed on the tile floor in quite an undignified manner. Idly, she noticed that the violin had abruptly cut off at some point during all this.

With a gasp, Hermione found herself able to breathe once more. She took great heaving breaths as she tried to work through the pain in her body. She needed to move, to get up off this floor and wrap a towel around her naked form, but there was no way she was moving right this moment. Even the thought of sitting up made her want to cry. As the door to the bathroom was thrown open, she stared wide-eyed into Sherlock's shocked face.

"What the devil were you thinking!?" he asked, standing above her and taking in the entire situation. "Why didn't you call for my assistance?"

"I thought I could handle it on my own," she said and then winced as she tried to move. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"For the love of…" Sherlock trailed off and then bent down to help her sit up. "John is going to be furious with you if you caused any of your ribs to refracture." Pausing, he frowned as he was able to get Hermione to sit against the side of the tub. "Or rather, he's going to be furious with me for not taking proper care of you."

"It wasn't your fault," she said simply, pulling her legs up to her chest and covering herself. It hadn't really occurred to her, but she was, in fact, entirely nude. "I'm sure I'm fine. Other than being winded and achy, I don't think anything worse has occurred."

Sherlock began to pace, shaking his head at her attempt to placate him. "This will certainly set your healing back days, at any rate."

He continued rambling on, gesturing wildly in his apparent anger. Hermione wanted to smile, to laugh even, but she was cold sitting naked on the floor and she desperately wished to be in bed with some of the pain medicine John had prescribed for her. Deciding she'd better stop him before he worked himself up into a tizzy, Hermione cleared her throat so that he would stop.

"Uh, Sherlock?" she queried, lifting her gaze to his when he paused. "Do you think you could hand me a towel?" She gestured down her body with one hand, careful to keep herself covered as best she could.

Sherlock blanched, finally realizing the state she was in. "Oh! Yes, of course." He grabbed her towel from the rack and handed it to her before stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Thank you," she mumbled, a blush gracing her cheeks as she wrapped it around herself. "Could you help me up now, do you think?" She bit her lip, again embarrassed at even having to ask.

He stooped without comment and wrapped his arm around her waist to carefully hoist her upward. The pain was minimal, but even so, she stumbled as she was placed on her feet, the towel slipping to the floor. It was too late to do much about it, though. Sherlock took hold of her shoulders and held her flush against his body.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, her hands clutching at his white Oxford shirt. Her breasts were pressed against him and they were both breathing heavily. It took everything she had but somehow, Hermione peered up at Sherlock through her lashes. "I'm so sorry. I'm not normally this clumsy."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock murmured, his grip softening as he slid his palms down her arms, thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "Are you hurt?" He looked down into her eyes, obviously not worried about her lack of dress.

In fact, Hermione could have sworn that was concern reflected in his beautiful eyes. She swallowed, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. "I'm feeling okay, all things considered," she replied softly, dropping her gaze to his chest. She knew she should back away and try to get her towel, but something held her there, in his arms. "Sherlock… I-"

As if breaking from a spell, Sherlock inhaled sharply and released the hold he had on Hermione. "I presume you'll be well enough to walk to the bedroom unassisted," he said breezily and then nodded once before ducking around her and exiting the loo.

Hermione was left standing there, naked and entirely exposed like never before. What had she been about to say and why did Sherlock want to get away so quickly? Had he felt it too, that indescribable connection they shared? She'd certainly felt it, and had since that first night when he'd allowed her to use his bedroom. Turning slowly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the open door, her heart racing and a feeling she'd not experienced in quite some time flowing through her veins.

. . . .

Midnight wasn't far off this New Year's Eve, and Hermione found herself smiling joyfully as she watched Rosie being bounced on John's knee. Sherlock was standing at the window, his back toward the room as if having so many people together thoroughly annoyed him. Mrs. Hudson, and Mary were in the kitchen tidying up the leftovers and making tea while she sat in Sherlock's chair and listened to John recount his and Sherlock's previous cases. It was fun and frivolous and Hermione felt better than she had in ages.

When the clock finally stuck midnight, Rosie was fast asleep in Mary's arms but they all toasted and celebrated the New Year all the same. Well, everyone save Sherlock, who had wandered into his bedroom. Hermione could see him in there, going through his drawers and tidying up as if it wasn't a holiday. There was no reason to say anything on the matter seeing as the others paid him no mind. She figured it was safe to assume this was just his way.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Mary said as she passed Rosie to John so she could give her a hug. "Happy New Year." She kissed her on the cheek before letting her go.

"Same to you, Mary, and you too, John," she said in reply, giving her friends each a hug in return. It was nice to celebrate with friends, even if they were new ones. She did miss Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan dearly, but right now it was unsafe in her world and she needed to be here.

When they were gone and only Mrs. Hudson remained, the landlady handed her two glasses of champagne and nudged her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go see if you can't cheer him up," she whispered with a grin. "He's always such a grump on the holidays." Once Hermione had taken the glasses, she added, "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, love. Happy New Year."

Hermione said nothing, simply stared after the landlady wondering if perhaps she knew more than she let on. Finally alone, she had a decision to make; either she could take the champagne to the kitchen and fall asleep on the couch, or she could go back into the bedroom and offer Sherlock a glass. Against her better judgement, Hermione chose the latter, figuring she only lived once. Hell, she'd almost been beaten to death in a dirty alley; certainly, having unwarranted feelings for Sherlock Holmes wasn't nearly as dangerous?

She felt awkward standing in the doorway with two glasses full of bubbly champagne. The lights in the rest of the flat had been turned down, the only remaining light coming from those of the Christmas lights still strung up along the hall and above the bed. Sherlock was standing by the window, his back to her and both hands in his pockets. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped fully into the room and sighed which caused him to turn around.

"Happy New Year, Sherlock," she greeted him softly, extending one of the glasses towards him. He regarded her for a moment before striding forward. He slid one hand from his trousers and accepted a glass of champagne, surprising her. She lifted her glass with a little smile. "Cheers."

Sherlock said nothing still, simply clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of the bubbly beverage. She made sure not to drop her gaze as she drank deeply, enjoying the way the bubbles made her nose tickle. The silence was getting them nowhere and Hermione was tired of silence. She wanted answers. She wanted to know more about Sherlock and why she felt so compelled toward him. Setting her champagne on the bedside table, she turned to Sherlock and crossed her arms.

"Look, I just want to apologize. Again." She tucked a curl behind her ear and took a step toward the detective. "I know we've discussed this previously, but I want to apologize for being a burden here. I've been thrown into your life, taken your bed and your time, forced myself into your work, and overall I feel like you just can't stand my presence at all."

She sighed and raked a hand through her curls because, _damn him_ , Sherlock still didn't even say a word. "I have tried over and _over_ again to get to know you better because I feel like we have this _connection_ , but you never let me in," she continued, finally eliciting a response from the man. He blinked and then frowned, looking around the room as if to say, _I'm here now, aren't I?_ Huffing, she ignored her inner musings and carried on ranting. "Is it me, Sherlock? Is there something wrong with me that you just don't like, that makes you wish I had never been attacked so close to your doorstep?"

Sherlock smirked then, and gave a small shake of his head as he watched Hermione breathe heavily. In turn, she watched him, wanting to throttle him for smirking. He chuckled, the sound amused and deep, so deep she practically felt it in her soul. Merlin, what was happening to her her? Slowly, painstakingly so, Sherlock closed the space between them with purposeful footsteps. His eyes never left hers, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. She hadn't been so bold previously, too injured to do much more than lay around. Perhaps, he was seeing her in a new light, one where he found her interesting enough to look further.

"Do you truly want to know what's wrong with you?" he asked her, voice sending shivers down her spine.

"What's that?" Hermione asked in return, completely taken aback. She was a bit breathless after her rant, but she had a feeling it had nothing to do with her remaining injuries and entirely with the way Sherlock was staring at her right now. And his voice. Sweet Salazar, that voice was giving her the naughtiest of ideas.

"Nothing," he replied simply, before setting aside the glass of champagne. " _Absolutely_ nothing." He didn't wait for her to say anything further, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

Startled, it took Hermione a second to realize what was happening. Sherlock's mouth on hers was strange, or rather, unexpected really. For days she'd wondered what it would be like to get to know this man, and here he was snogging her senseless. Deciding she no longer cared, she closed her eyes and returned the kiss. Her hands found their way into his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp. He moaned into her mouth and she nearly melted into a puddle from the sound.

She was pressed so firmly against his body, she could feel the contours of his muscles under his Oxford shirt. But she wanted to feel more. She needed to feel all of him, and now. Separating their mouths, she simply stared at him, panting, her eyes burning with a fire she'd thought was gone forever. He was watching her, _examining_ her, wanting to know if he'd overstepped his boundaries. Reaching forward with surprisingly steady hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale skin to her inch by inch.

He helped her shed the shirt when she was finished before reaching out and grabbing hold of her waist. Tugging her back to him, his lips found hers for a brief moment before sliding down to trail wet, hot kisses along her neck. She could feel him trembling, but she was too. This time, her hands shook as they reached for his trousers, his arousal tenting the front of the expensive fabric. That was for her, she thought, and she moaned as he nipped at the base of her throat.

After unfastening his trousers, Hermione slid one hand inside, stroking him through the cotton fabric of his boxers. He was hot and hard and long, and Hermione wanted him inside of her like she couldn't believe. Sherlock had stopped his kisses to pant wantonly into the crook of her neck so it was easy for her to disentangle herself. She stopped her ministrations for a moment just so she could pull her own shirt over her head. It hurt, but she ignored the pain as a fresh wave of desire rocked through her.

Sherlock was staring at her hungrily, his pupils blown wide like he was high. Maybe he was. Maybe they both were. Hell, she was drinking champagne on top of her pain medicine and she knew from quiet conversations with Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock was prone to using every now and then for a case. Forcing such thoughts away, Hermione quickly removed her jeans, and wasted no further time before removing her socks, bra, and knickers as well. Now, she stood in front of Sherlock, naked and baring her soul.

His eyes roamed over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking in the valley between her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was far from perfect, scars from the war and recent years marring her body. But as she continued to stare at Sherlock, his hands removing the last of his clothes and revealing his entire self to her, she realized he had scars too. Cuts and slashes, and what appeared to be a bullet wound showed his own battles he had won. Sherlock was not perfect and neither was she.

Swallowing, audibly, she reached out and placed her hand over the bullet wound scar. "You have survived much," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

Sherlock's hand gently reached out to cup her chin. "So have you."

He kissed her then, much more tenderly than before. She walked backward slowly, leading him to the edge of the bed as they kissed. He helped her onto the high mattress, waiting until she'd shuffled backward before crawling atop himself. Hermione's heart was racing as she stared up into Sherlock's eyes, everything she wanted and more was reflected there. "Please," she asked, wanting nothing more than to be entirely filled by him.

He nodded and placed a tender kiss to her forehead. As Sherlock slid inside of her, she cried out his name. Her hands slid down his back, feeling his muscles pull taut as he made love to her. She met him thrust for thrust, wanting nothing more than for this to last forever. He was close, she could tell, so she took matters into her own hands, sliding one hand down to rub at her swollen nub. She wanted to find completion together, and Sherlock nodded, knowing what she was after.

With her other hand, she tugged his face down to meet hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth for a taste. He tasted of tea, champagne, and perhaps a bit of tobacco… She didn't mind it though. When the rhythm of his hips became erratic, Hermione sped up her mintrations, and that was all she needed. She came on a cry, tears springing to her eyes as Sherlock continued to move within her. He helped her to ride out the orgaasm for a moment before, he too, let go. Her name was whispered into the crook of her neck, so reverently she wanted to cry all over again.

When it was over, Hermione could barely breathe, her heart was so full. As if knowing this, Sherlock retreated from her body and curled onto his side. Pulling her close, he pressed his body to hers and settled his palm over her heart. It was comforting, more compassionate than she thought the man was capable of. She wanted to speak, to say something momentous, but words escaped her. Desperately, she'd wanted to unravel the mystery of Sherlock, and here it was. He was just as lonely as she, and now they had to figure out where to go from here. Wrapped in Sherlock's embrace, she was warm and content underneath the Christmas lights. Sleep took them both easily, but neither would be prepared for what the morning brought.

. . . .

"Hermione?!"

Slowly, Hermione felt herself pulled from sleep. Behind her, Sherlock's body was still snug against her, his hand holding her tightly against him. But something pulled her from her dreams… Dreams where she and Sherlock were together and happy and this entire ordeal was over. She was going to let herself go back to sleep when she heard it again, knowing it hadn't been part of her dream.

"Hermione? Are you here?"

Fully awake now, Hermione gasped. Sherlock, too, must have heard it because he was up and out of the bed instantly. Thankfully, he had enough sense to throw on his blue dressing gown. Frowning, he tossed her his spare. She quickly crawled to the edge of the bed and slid to her feet before wrapping herself in it. Sherlock left the room, apparently eager to find out who was calling on her so early in the morning.

"Who are you?" the voice came again and she paused while tying the sash.

"Harry!?" Moving quickly now, she exited the bedroom and ran down the hall. She nearly rammed right into the back of Sherlock, who was stood frozen in the doorway. She peered around his tall form to find her best friend standing in the middle of the front room, a panicked look on his face.

"Harry! Oh my goodness, thank _Merlin_ you're here!" She rushed around Sherlock and all but threw herself into his waiting arms. Tears poured down her face as he hugged her, carefully, and then released her to have a better look.

"Hermione, you're a sight for sore eyes. How are you? Are you feeling better?" Harry held her at arm's length, checking her over and trying to make sure she was all in one piece.

"Yes," she breathed, so full of relief at seeing a familiar face. "I'm much better. I wish I'd known you were coming. I would have been awake." She blushed then, reminded suddenly of Sherlock and why she'd still been fast asleep. Biting her lip she peered over her shoulder to find the detective standing in the same place. "Uh, Harry, this is Sherlock Holmes. This is his flat."

Harry smiled, obviously not minding that Sherlock was in a dressing gown. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter. Thank you for allowing Hermione to stay here."

Sherlock looked at his hand and then to Hermione before finally taking hold and shaking once. He dropped the shake and then took a breath. "You're here to take her back to your world," he said by way of greeting.

Hermione frowned when Harry gave her a strange look. Something wasn't right with that statement, and she felt her heart start to race as panic rose. "What do you mean?" she asked him, taking a single step toward her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him release his wand from the holster in his sleeve.

"I think I have known for quite some time that while you appear normal enough, there was something else lingering beneath the surface. Your comment from earlier confirmed it," Sherlock explained, crossing his arms and staring at her intently.

"My comment?" Hermione really had no idea what he was talking about.

"Merlin."

"Oh…" She trailed off, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. She'd done so well not to use that exclamation, but in her excitement, she'd slipped up. Sighing, she turned to Harry, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I have to tell him."

Harry, with his keen eyes, observed his best friend and then Sherlock. Noting their state of dress amongst other things, he closed his eyes. "Damn it, Hermione. You just had to let that heart of yours get in the way…" He said it in jest, though, one hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. "Fine. Go on, but make it quick. The Minister wants to meet with you this morning. I'll be waiting outside."

Hermione waited until Harry was gone before turning back to Sherlock. He was looking at her with expectant eyes, his jaw tense in anticipation. Sighing heavily, she ran both hands through her messy curls and decided it was easier to just come out and say it. "Sherlock, I've been keeping a secret from you and everyone else not because I wanted to, but because it's against the law of my people to just randomly reveal it unless absolutely necessary."

"Go on," Sherlock said, turning and beginning to head back to the bedroom.

Confused, Hermione blinked at his retreating form a second before hurrying after him. In the bedroom, he began redressing, paying her no mind as she stood in the doorway. "Uh, okay. This is going to make me sound completely nutters, but I'm a witch."

Sherlock paused as he was pulling up his trousers, his frown deepening. When he came to some sort of conclusion, he finished pulling them up and fastening them before meeting her stare. "You can do magic."

"Yes." She bit her lip, watching as he buttoned his shirt and then tucked it in. "I can do magic, if I have my wand, that is." He was standing there staring at her, his beautiful eyes reading her like an open book now. She felt utterly exposed under his scrutiny. "But I lost it when I was attacked. If I had it, I could have healed myself and been on my way ages ago. I'm so sorry for keeping that from you, but I had no choice and Harry couldn't come to get me with the other attacks happening."

"Other attacks." Now, Sherlock moved, striding forward and brushing past her to the living room. She again followed, finding him staring at the mess of papers and photographs that was his current case. "These are related to your magical world."

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "Harry and I work for what is known as the Ministry of Magic. He is an Auror, someone who specializes in finding Dark wizards, and I am part of the Magical Law Enforcement."

"A wizarding police officer," Sherlock said with a smirk, turning to look at her. "That is how you knew how to help with the case."

"I do this all the time," she said with a smile, gesturing at his work. "You and I are quite similar when it comes to solving cases."

Stepping away from the table, Sherlock came to stand in front of Hermione. He took her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes. "You have lied to me, though I find I cannot be angry with you." He dropped his hand as a frown formed on his face. Stepping away from her, he said, "However, I am afraid you are about to be quite furious with me."

"What? Why?" Confused, Hermione stood there watching as Sherlock walked over to the mantle. Shuffling around the papers and the skull, he slid the tip of his finger into a crack at the edge of the wall. With wide eyes now, Hermione watched as a wand, _her wand_ , was pushed into view. Without a word, he walked over and handed it to her. "This is my wand," she said breathless, accepting it from him and holding it close to her chest.

"I found it in your coat that first night you were here," he admitted and then turned away from her again. He entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the table to pull his microscope towards him.

Feeling a burst of anger, Hermione gripped her wand and used it to cast clothes upon herself. Sherlock paid her use of magic no mind, picking up a sample to examine on the microscope. "You had my wand the whole damn time I was here and never thought to mention it to me?"

"I was afraid you were a criminal."

"A criminal?!" Hermione threw her free hand up into the air as she stormed into the kitchen. "I was beaten to within an inch of my life and you bloody well thought I was a _criminal_?"

"I am careful these days."

He wouldn't look up from the microscope and Hermione felt her heart breaking. It was stupid, but that was how she felt. Two weeks she'd spent in this flat getting to know Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, and Rosie and yet, Sherlock was _still_ a bloody mystery to her. Even after last night. She knew she was rather closed off herself, but she'd hoped Sherlock wouldn't be just another notch on her wand. She' hoped he was something more, but now she wasn't so sure.

"All this time I just wanted to know who you really were…" She trailed off, throat clogged with emotion. "I thought maybe there was something…" Nope. She stopped, opened her mouth and then closed it again. She wasn't going to do this. If this was meant to be how it ended, she didn't want to make false declarations. Sighing, she tucked away her wand and moved to the living room where her coat was still hung on the chair. She put it on and turned to say farewell. "You know what, nevermind. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

"Goodbye, Hermione Granger."

Sherlock made no attempt to glance her way as he said this and so, with a heavy heart, Hermione walked out the door and down the stairs. With every step she took, her chest ached something fierce, but it wasn't from her healing ribs. No, it was from something else, but there was nothing she could do about that. Down here, Mrs. Hudson had already taken down the Christmas lights, but that was okay. The darkness was where she felt she belonged anyway.

. . . .

Harry stood waiting by the cab, but for some reason, she could not go to him. On the doorstep of 221B, Hermione felt more conflicted than ever before. Something had changed within her during her time spent with Sherlock. Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, she looked at Harry, who was waving her on, and then back inside. Sherlock hadn't followeed her downstairs, choosing instead to remain seated at his microscope in the kitchen.

Knowing that she needed to return to her world, Hermione took a shuddering breath and a step down onto the pavement. Inside, her heart ached, more so than when her ribs had been newly broken. Swallowing, she took another step toward Harry, somehow knowing that if she left now, she would never see Sherlock again. Stumbling to a stop, she felt the sob bubbling up inside of her before she could force it down. Harry's face fell, but she held up a hand so he wouldn't come to her.

"Harry, I-" Unable to speak, she just shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay. With Sherlock…

She didn't have to say anything further, her friend seemed to understand. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he opened the door to the cab. "Hermione, it's okay. I understand." He sighed, sliding into the cab and staring out the door at her. "Take the time you need. We'll be waiting when you're ready to return to us."

Hermione hesitated… How could she just skirt her responsibilities and stay here with Sherlock. What was she thinking? As if realizing she was second guessing herself even further, Harry laughed, drawing her attention to him.

"Hermione," he said with bright eyes. " _Go_."

"Thank you, Harry," she said with relief before turning on her heel and dashing back up the few steps and into 221B. Ignoring the lingering pain from her fading injuries, she raced up the stairs and quickly turned left so she could enter the kitchen.

Sherlock was exactly where she left him, eyes peering through the microscope with such intensity there was no way he even knew she could be standing there. Torn between bursting into tears for reasons unknown and catching her breath, Hermione shuffled forward and observed his still form. His shoulders were tense, back just a tad too straight, and that was all the indication she needed that he knew she was really there. She needed to know if he felt this too, whatever this was that she currently felt between them. Was it love? Perhaps, but she felt like it went deeper than that.

"Sherlock?" she tried, placing a hand on his shoulder. Their initial farewell had been so abrupt, so tense, that she was certain he'd ignore her entirely. "Sherlock, _please_."

Something in her plea must have stirred him, for after taking a shuddering breath of his own, he lifted his head and peered over his shoulder. His eyes were shining, as if he too had been crying, but that was ridiculous. Why would the great Sherlock Holmes cry? She didn't have the time to think on it as he rose from his chair and carded a hand through her curls.

"You stayed." She nodded, so he continued. "Yes, but why?"

"I think you know why." Placing her hand on his chest, she gazed up into his face, losing herself in his eyes. "There's something about you that I can't explain, but it draws me in. I want to discover what that is."

Sherlock leaned into her touch, his eyes searching Hermione's for deception, though he found none. "You would stay simply to learn more about me?"

Hermione laughed lightly, shaking her head as she moved her hand to cup his cheek. "No, Sherlock, don't you see? It's more than that. I want to stay because I think I'm falling in love with you."

Sherlock merely blinked, and for a second, Hermione thought he would shy away from her declaration. Instead, he took her by surprise, surging forward and capturing her lips and kissing her adoringly. Hermione, let herself go, wanting nothing more than to remain with Sherlock forever. It appeared the acerbic man felt the same as she, his kisses full of passion and something, dare she say it, more. It no longer mattered that they were from different worlds, they had found one another and together their love would light the way…


End file.
